LIBRARY 

OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 
Class  tf f^^ 

Mars  Disarmed 


A  Play  in  Four  Acts 


Mars  Disarmed 


A  PLAY 
Jn  Jour  ^ctfii 


BY  R.   CUNNINGHURST 


OF  THC 


SAN   FRANCISCO 

The  Whitaker  and  Ray  Company 

(Incorporated) 

1901 


Copyright,  1901, 
By  R.  Cunninghtjrst. 


THE   PERSONS   OF   THE   PLAY. 

General  Vimont,  in  the  service  of  the  Emperor  Napoleon. 

Alixe,  his  sister. 

Count  de  Birson,  secretary  to    Vimont  and  preceptor  to 

Alixe. 
Marquis  de  Mirvoisin,  nephew  of  Birson' s. 
Fresney. 
Sellier. 

Madeleine  de  Marot. 
Madame  de  la  Marthe. 
Mademoiselle  de  la  Marthe. 
AuDRE,  an  Orderly. 
The  Mayor  of  Marcy. 
The  Abbot  of  Narmontier. 
An  Old  Farmer, 
Bosquet,  \-  Tenants  of  Vimont. 

ViGNIER, 

Latour, 

Ghartier, 

Meaupert,  >  ^^<^onds. 

Beaumont, 
Armand 


:( 


T^  I  Servants. 

Edmond, 

Gaston,  a  Page. 

Clement,  an  Agent  of  the  Police. 

A  Gardener. 

Guests,  Farmers,  Tenants,  Etc. 


PERIOD 

A.D.  1807.    The  Year  of  the  Battle  of  Friedland 


The  Scene  in  the  First,  Second,  and  Third  Acts  takes 
place  in  the  Chateau  of  the  Vimonts.  The  Scene 
in  the  Fourth  Act  takes  place  in  the  adjoining 
Chateau  of  the  Marquis  de  Mirvoisin. 


The  Action  takes  place  in  Four  successive  Days 

•     THE  FIRST  ACT 

THE  RETURN   FROM  FRIEDLAND 

THE  SECOND  ACT 

THE  DESCRIPTION  OF  FRIEDLAND 

THE  THIRD  ACT 

THE  CHALLENGE 

THE  FOURTH  ACT 

THE  DUEL 


MARS   DISARMED. 

THE   FIRST  ACT. 

THE    EETURN    FROM    FRIEDLAND. 

Time:  Afternoon. 

Library,  richly  furnished.  To  the  right,  long  table 
covered  with  books,  documents,  rolls  of  paper, 
etc.  In  a  prominent  place,  opposite  table,  an 
antique  arm-chair  with  high  back.  In  a  cor- 
ner, a  page  sleeps.  Birson  (a  man  of  forty; 
shoulders  slightly  suggestive  of  those  of  a  hunch- 
back; light  mustache,  waxed  upwards;  slow  of 
speech;  dressed  in  black,  style  Louis  XVI.; 
fastidiously  neat;  obviously  vain;  dignified 
and  serious  in  the  presence  of  others;  frivolous 
and  theatrical  when  alone)  is  seated  at  the 
table,  reading  and  correcting  a  MS.  Occa- 
sionally he  reads  a  passage  aloud;  runs  his 
pen  through  a  line;  alters  a  paragraph;  nods 
approvingly,  or  shakes  his  head  in  disap- 
proval. 

Birson. 

[Reading  aloud.']     ''  But  mortals,  for  being  aus- 
tere, are  none  the  less  mortal"  .  .  .  That  sounds 

7 


8  MARS   DISARMED. 

well  .  .  .  IReads  to  himself;  corrects;  then  aloud.} 
"  The  Princess  grew  more  restless — like  a  bird, 
long  caged,  sighing  for  the  fields  and  forests" 
.  .  .  Exquisitely  poetic.  [Reads  to  himself;  then 
aloud.]  "  What,  0  Princess,  would  you  think  of 
the  slave  who  dared  to  look  longingly  in  the  eyes 
of  his  mistress  ?  "  .  .  .  That  is  to  the  point — 
very  much  to  the  point  .  .  .  [Looks  at  clock  and 
calls  page.}  Gaston!  [No  response.]  Gaston  1 
[No  response.  He  waits  a  second  and  calls  louder.} 
Gaston  I  [Still  receiving  no  response  j  he  turns 
slowly  in  his  chair  and  sees  the  page  asleep.  Ap- 
proaching, he  takes  him  by  the  ear  and  raises  him 
from  the  seat.  Page  awakens  with  frightened 
look.}  AVhat  pranks  were  you  up  to  last  night, 
that  you  need  slumber  in  broad  daylight?  Take 
a  book  and  sit  in  the  ante-chamber.  I'll  call  you 
when  I  need  you;  and  be  careful  not  to  come 
till  I  call  you.  [Page  goes  out,  rubbing  his  eyes. 
BiRSON  goes  to  the  table,  takes  the  MS.  in  hand 
and  arranges  the  sheets  carefully.}  Yes — this  may 
reveal  to  her  my  sentiments;  failing  which,  it 
may  facilitate  my  declaring  them  .  .  .  Dehcate 
conception!  .  .  .  Admirable  plan!  .  .  .  I  wonder 
how  it  will  sound  when  it  falls  upon  her  ears  .  .  . 
[He  reads.}  "  On  the  wooded  banks  of  the  Arno, 
not  far  from  the  ancient  city  of  Florence  .  .  ."  No 
— let  the  picture  be  complete  in  my  mind,  that  I 
may  better  grasp  the  r61e  I  am  to  play  .  .  .  [He 
advances  to  the  door,  bows  low  to  an  imaginary 
lady,  offers  her  his  hand,  and  escorts  her  to  the  old- 
fashioned  arm-chair  with  high  back;  he  bows  low 
again  and  withdraws  to  a  point  at  end  of  table, 


MARS   DISARMED.  9 

where  he  takes  position  to  read.  After  loolcing 
earnestly  in  the  direction  of  the  arm-chair,  he  reads 
the  MS.  aloud.]  "  On  the  wooded  banks  of  the 
Arno,  not  far  from  the  ancient  city  of  Florence, 
stood  a  palace,  surrounded  by  a  vast  domain. 
Here,  attended  by  her  maids,  lived  the  Princess 
Amarinta — now  in  her  sixteenth  year — the  sole 
survivor  of  the  princely  house  of  Borimenti. 
The  last  worldly  act  of  her  father  was  to  confide 
her  to  the  care  of  Luigi,  his  faithful  secretary, 
a  man  of  noble  birth  but  shattered  fortune  .  .  . 

l^Page  enter s."] 

Page. 

Monsieur  de  la  Marsignerie  sends  to  inquire 
whether  there  is  news  of  Colonel  Vimont, 

BiRSON. 

Tell  the  messenger  to  convey  to  Monsieur  de  la 
Marsignerie  my  regrets  at  having  to  inform  him 
that,  up  to  the  present  moment,  there  is  no  news 
of  the  Colonel.  [_Page  goes  out.  Birson  mutters 
to  himself.]  I  am  bothered  all  day  long  with  in- 
quiries as  to  whether  there  is  news  of  the  Colonel 
— as  to  whether  there  is  any  prospect  of  hearing 
from  the  Colonel — as  to  when  I  expect  the 
Colonel  to  return  .  .  .  The  Colonel  will  never 
return — alive.  [^He  resumes  his  attitude  and  reads 
the  MS.]  "On  the  wooded  banks  of  the  Arno 
.  .  ."  [A  servant  enters.  Birson  looks  annoyed.] 
What  do  you  wish? 


10  MARS   DISARMED. 

Servant. 

[Obsequiously.']  I  wish  to  know  whether  Mon- 
sieur has  any  orders  for  me. 

ft 

BiRSON. 

None — or  I  should  have  sent  for  you.  [Ser- 
vant is  about  to  withdraw,  when  Birson  recalls  him.'] 
Armand!  ...  on  reflection,  I  have  something  to 
tell  you. 

Servant. 

[Obsequiously]     At  your  service,  Monsieur. 

BiRSON. 

I  hear  you  have  been  speaking  of  me. 

Servant. 
Ah,  Monsieur,  I  know  I  have  enemies. 

Birson. 

None  worse  than  yourself.  To  speak  dispar- 
agingly of  your  superiors  is  not  incumbent  on 
you. 

Servant. 

Disparagingly,  Monsieur — oh,  I  beg  your  par- 
don. 

Birson. 
Excuses  are  useless.     I  know  whereof  I  speak. 


MARS   DISARMED.  11 

Servant. 
At  least  Monsieur  might  tell  me  what  I  said. 

BiRSON. 

Need  I  tell  you  that  which  you  already  know? 

Servant. 
Ah,  pardon,  Monsieur.     I  know  nothing. 

BiRSON. 

Well,  then,  listen  to  your  own  words:  Monsieur 
de  Birson — that  is  myself — assumes  a  great  deal 
in  trying  to  control  this  establishment.  Monsieur 
de  Birson — that  is  myself — affects  a  great  many 
airs.  Monsieur  de  Birson — that  is  myself — thinks 
that  because  he  is  connected  with  the  nobility  of 
a  regime  that  is  no  more,  he  is  a  superior  person, 
whereas  he  is  but  a  paid  hireling  of  Colonel  Vi- 
mont,  like  Monsieur  Armand — that  is  yourself. 

Servant. 

Ah,  pardon.  Monsieur.  I  never  uttered  such 
sentiments. 

Birson. 

Not  only  you  Ued  when  you  spoke  thus,  but 
you  lie  now,  when  you  deny  having  spoken  thus. 
I  wish  you  to  understand  that  if  I  assume  to 
control  this  establishment,  it  is  because  I  have 
been  commissioned  to  do  so  by  Colonel  Vimont; 


12  MARS   DISARMED. 

and  in  virtue  of  the  power  vested  in  me  by  him, 
I  dismiss  you  from  his  service. 

Servant. 

Dismissed!  Is  this  the  reward  of  faithful  ser- 
vice to  my  master — the  Colonel? 

BiRSON. 

It  is  the  reward  of  faithful  service  to  your 
master — Falsehood. 

Servant. 
I  am  to  go,  then,  Monsieur? 

BiRSON. 

You  are  to  leave  this  house  within  an  hour. 

[^He  turns  his  hack  to  the  servant  and  reads 
the  MS.  in  his  handJ] 

Servant. 

[Losing  his  obsequious  manner  and  speaking  ex- 
citedly.] 1  wish  you  to  understand.  Monsieur, 
that  every  word  I  said  of  you,  and  which  you 
have  repeated,  is  true.  You  are  a  hireling  and 
you  try  to  play  the  master.  You  are  a  nonentity 
and  you  affect  the  manners  of  the  Grand  Sei- 
gneur. Furthermore,  I  know  that  you  dislike  me, 
and  dismiss  me,  because  I  am  a  Bonapartist, 
like  the  Colonel,  while  vou  are  a  Rovalist,  like 
the  cowards  beyond  the  frontier.     You  .  .  . 


MAES   DISARMED.  13 

BiRSON. 

[Calmly.  Facing  the  servant.']  Do  you  see  the 
door? 

Servant. 

[With  an  air  of  defiance.  Door  half  open.]  My 
day  will  come. 

[Servant  withdraws.  After  a  minuteh  pausCy 
BiRSON  rings  hell.     Page  enters.] 

BiRSON. 

Tell  Edmond  I  wish  to  see  him.  [Page  goes 
out.  Edmond  enters.]  Edmond,  I  have,  for  good 
cause,  dismissed  Armand.  It  pained  me  to  do 
so.  Material  is  becoming  scarce.  All  the  men 
are  being  drawn  into  the  army.  If  this  con- 
tinues, we  shall  have  no  more  servants,  no  more 
tenants,  no  more  farmers — nothing  but  women 
and  children  .  .  .  and  [aside]  obviously  few  of 
the  latter  .  .  .  Edmond,  you  will  take  Armand's 
place,  but  profit  by  his  experience;  don't  talk 
too  much — especially  about  me. 

Servant. 

[Bowing.]  Thank  you.  Monsieur;  thank  you 
...  I  shall  profit  by  Armand's  experience  .  .  . 

[Edmond  goes  out.  Birson,  his  hands  behind 
his  back,  walks  up  and  down  the  room, 
speaking  to  himself,  and  occasionally  aloud ^ 


14  MAES   DISARMED. 

BiRSON. 

I  shall  be  master  here  .  .  .  and  continue  mas- 
ter ..  . 

Page. 

Madame  and  Mademoiselle  de  la  Marthe. 

BiRSON. 

{^Evidently  annoyed.  Hesitating,  and  then  in  a 
resigned  tone.'\  I'll  see  them.  [Page  goes  out, 
and,  the  next  moment,  ushers  in  the  ladies — both  of 
them  curiosities  in  their  icay.  The  elder,  dressed 
in  the  utmost  simplicity,  has  preciseness  of  speech 
and  dignity  of  manner.  The  younger — her  daugh- 
ter— tries  to  conceal  her  forty  years  by  an  elabo- 
rate toilette  and  a  frivolity  of  speech  and  manner 
bordering  on  the  ludicrous.']  Ah,  my  dear  aunt 
and  charming  cousin!  [He  kisses  their  hands.]  I 
am  delighted  to  see  you.  To  what  am  I  indebted 
for  this  unexpected  visit  ? 

Madame  de  la  Marthe. 
[Solemnly.]     Family  news  of  importance. 

Mdlle.  de  la  Marthe. 

[Rolling  her  eyes  and  clasping  her  hands  in  an 
ecstatic  manner.]  Of  importance,  indeed!  of  im- 
portance to  me! 

BiRSON. 

[Astonished.]  What  ?  Are  you  to  be  married, 
Christine  ? 


MARS   DISARMED.  15 

Mdlle.  de  la  Marthe. 
Yes — I  am  to  be  married — before  long. 

Madame  de  la  Marthe. 

Christine  is  speaking  inferentially.     The  fact 
is  that  Corisande  is  to  marry  St.  Arnauldt. 

BiRSON. 

Indeed!     Both  are  to  be  congratulated. 

Madame  de  la  Marthe. 
And  you  remember  the  old  family  tradition? 

BiRSON. 

[Confused.']     Of  so  many,  which  one? 

Mdlle.  de  la  Marthe. 
The  most  delightful  of  all! 

Madame  de  la  Marthe. 

One  marriage  in  the  family  always  followed 
by  two  others  within  the  twelvemonth. 

BiRSON. 

[Joyfully.]     It  never  failed. 

Mdlle.  de  la  marthe. 
[More  joyfully.]     It  never  will. 


16  MARS   DISARMED. 

Madame  de  la  Marthe. 

Be  calm,  my  child.  [Turning  to  Birson.']  The 
question  which  puzzles  us  is  this:  Does  the  tra- 
dition refer  to  three  marriages  in  the  family,  or 
to  three  members  of  the  family  being  married? 

Mdlle.  de  la  Marthe. 

•    [With   emphasis  J]     I   claim   it  is   three    mar- 
riages. 

Birson. 

Why  do  you  insist? 

[Mademoiselle   looks  coy — moves  her  foot  nerv- 
ously— and  remains  silent.^ 

Madame  de  la  Marthe. 

Because  it  gives  her  one  chance  more — poor 
child. 

Birson. 
How  so? 

Mdlle.  de  la  Marthe. 

Corisande  and  St.  Arnauldt  are  not  only 
cousins  of  ours — but  they,  themselves,  are  cous- 
ins. Being  cousins,  it  follows  that  while  there 
are  two  members  of  the  family  being  married, 
there  will  be  but  one  wedding — hence,  according 
to  tradition,  two  other  weddings  will  follow. 

[She  takes  a  few  steps  of  a  merry  dance. 1 


MARS   DISARMED.  17 

Madame  de  la  Marthe. 

[Solemnly.']  With  prospects  of  peace,  the  offi- 
cers will  be  returning. 

Mdlle.  de  la  Marthe. 
[Rapturously.']     What  joy! 

Madame  de  la  Marthe. 

Up  to  now,  victories  abroad  have  accumulated, 
and  opportunities  at  home  have  diminished. 

Mdlle.  de  la  Marthe. 

All  this  glory  has  been  purely  masculine.  It 
has  not  brought  joy  to  maidens'  hearts. 

Madame  de  la  Marthe. 

Do  not  complain,  my  child.  Had  you  married 
earlier,  you  would  probably  be,  to-day,  one  of  the 
thousands  of  widows  in  France. 

Birson. 

Do  not  despair,  my  cousin;  Corisande  and  St. 
Arnauldt  are  to  marry,  and  two  marriages  in  the 
family  will  follow. 

Madame  de  la  Marthe. 

[Sighing.]  I  hope  Christine's  will  be  the  sec- 
ond. 

BiRSON. 

[Prophetically.]     If  at  all,  it  will  be  the  third. 


18  MARS   DISARMED. 

Madame  and  Mdlle.  de  la  Marthe. 
The  third!     The  third  1 

Mdlle.  de  la  Marthe. 
And  pray,  whose  will  the  second  be  ? 

BiRSON. 

[Hesitating  a  moment — then  drawing  himself  up 
proudly.}     Mine — Jean  Gabriel  de  Birson's. 

Madame  de  la  Marthe. 
You? 

Birson. 
I — as  stated. 

Mlle.  de  la  Marthe. 
To  whom? 

BiRSON. 

[^After  looking  around  the  room,  and  seeing  that 
the  door  is  closed.']     To  Mademoiselle  Vimont. 

Madame  de  la  Marthe. 
The  Colonel's  sister? 

BiRSON. 

The  Colonel's  sister. 

Madame  de  la  Marthe. 
Have  you  proposed  to  her? 


MARS   DISARMED.  19 

BlESON. 

No — but  I  propose  doing  so — and  while  you 
are  here,  I  wish  to  consult  you  as  to  the  best 
manner  to  proceed.  You  know  she  has  no  par- 
ents here  whom  I  can  approach. 

Madame  de  la  Marthe. 

But  her  brother?  .  .  .  She  tells  everyone  she 
promised  her  brother  never  to  pledge  herself 
without  his  consent. 

BiRSON. 

True — but  her  brother  will  never  return. 

Madame  de  la  Marthe. 
What  do  you  mean? 

BiRSON. 

Vimont  is  a  maniac  on  the  battlefield;  he  is 
always  in  the  thick  of  the  fight,  where  danger  is 
greatest;  and,  mark  my  words,  the  battlefield 
will  claim  him  as  a  victim. 

Madame  de  la  Marthe. 

A  victim  to  the  greed,  the  ambition,  of  Na- 
poleon. 

Mdlle.  de  la  Marthe. 
You  think  she  will  accept  you? 


20  MAES   DISARMED. 

BiRSON. 

[Swelling  with  pride. 1  Why  not?  She  has 
always  been  amiable  to  me.  I  am  her  brother's 
best  friend,  as  my  father  was  to  his  father.  And 
then  you  know  there  is  always  a  tendency — a 
natural  and  a  wise  tendency — on  the  part  of  a 
new  regime  to  associate  itself  with  the  old — es- 
pecially with  a  family  as  old  and  as  distinguished 
as  ours. 

Madame  de  la  Marthe. 

I  hope  so.  She  may  rehabilitate  the  family 
fortunes.     She  must  be  very  rich. 

BiRSON. 

Immensely  rich  .  .  .  and  exquisitely  charm- 
ing. But  tell  me,  which  of  the  two  plans  would 
you  think  the  likelier  to  succeed:  a  proposal — a 
direct  proposal  .  .  .  Frankly,  I  do  not  quite  ap- 
prove of  this  method  ...  I  am  so  timid  in  such 
matters  ...  or  an  indirect  proposal,  by  means 
of  what  we  might  call  a  ruse? 

Madame  de  la  Marthe. 

A  ruse —  What  do  you  mean  to  imply  there- 
by? 

BiRSON. 

This — You  know  that  one   of  my   duties  as 

Mademoiselle  Vimont's  preceptor  is  to  read  to 

her  three  times  a  week — any  subject  I  please.  I 

have     composed     something  .  .  .  the     MS.  is 


MARS   DISARMED.  21 

there  .  .  .  [he  'points  to  the  tahW]  in  which  I 
relate — as  having  occurred  in  the  olden  times — a 
case  somewhat  similar  to  mine.  This  will  intro- 
duce the  situation,  and  by  leading  gently  to  the 
subject,  allow  me  to  approach  it  with  greater 
ease. 

Mdlle.  de  la  Marthe. 
How  romantic! 

Madame  de  la  Marthe. 

[Rising  to  leave.~\  Any  plan  will  do,  my  dear 
Jean,  provided  it  succeeds.  I  hope  you  and 
Christine  will  not  be  disappointed  .  .  .  Do  not 
fail  to  write  and  congratulate  Corisande  and  St. 
Arnauldt. 

[BiRSON  escorts  them  to  the  door  and  bows  them 
out.  He  walks  the  floor  silently  for  a  few 
moments.     Looks  at  the  clock.^ 

BiRSON. 

Half  an  hour  before  she  comes  ...  I  shall 
risk  it  to-day.  I  must  not  miss  the  opportunity 
of  making  mine  one  of  the  three  weddings  the 
family  is  to  celebrate  this  year.  [He  takes  the 
MS.  in  hand;  resumes  his  position  at  head  of  the 
table.  Reads.']  "On  the  wooded  banks  of  the 
Arno,  not  far  from  the  ancient  city  of  Florence 
.  .  ."  [Alixe,  a  girl  of  eighteen,  in  Empire  dress, 
enters.  Birson,  embarrassed,  bows  low.]  I  am 
flattered,    though    somewhat    disconcerted,    by 


22  MARS    DISARMED. 

Mademoiselle's    appearance    before     the     usual 
hour. 

Alixe. 

I  was  induced  to  come  earlier,  Monsieur  de 
Birson,  by  my  desire  to  know  whether  you  have 
news  of  my  brother. 

BiRSON. 

I  have  none,  or  I  should  have  hastened  to  in- 
form Mademoiselle. 

Alixe. 

I  have  weird  apprehensions.  It  is  over  two 
months  since  Friedland  was  fought,  and  yet  not 
a  word  from  Eugene,  not  a  word  from  his  friends. 
I  am  growing  anxious,  impatient. 

BiRSON. 

I  am  convinced  Mademoiselle's  anxiety  is  un- 
founded. 

Alixe. 

If  my  anxiety  be  unfounded,  then,  surely,  my 
impatience  is  well  founded.  If  he  be  alive  and 
well,  why  does  he  not  write? 

BiRSON. 

[Gallantly.']  Letters,  like  love  sighs,  Mademoi- 
selle, do  not  always  reach  destination. 


MARS   DISARMED,  23 

Alixe. 

I  fear  that  dream — that  constant  dream  of  his 
— the  marshal's  baton — will  lure  him  on  to  reck- 
less deeds,  to  unforeseen  dangers. 

BiKSON. 

Have  no  fear,  Mademoiselle;  the  Colonel  will 
come  when  least  expected,  as  do  most  things  in 
life. 

Alixe. 

Then  I  shall  try  not  to  expect  him,  and  listen 
attentively  to  your  discourse. 

BiRSON. 

The  punctuality  with  which  Mademoiselle  at- 
tends my  lectures  pleases  me,  and  leads  me 
to  believe  that  the  part,  however  humble,  I  am 
called  upon  to  play  in  her  education  is  not  dis- 
agreeable to  her. 

Alixe. 

What  I  first  considered  a  duty,  in  obedience  to 
my  brother's  wishes,  I  now  consider  a  pleasure. 
What  is  your  subject  to-day.  Monsieur  de 
Birson? 

BiRSON. 

My  subject?  Let  me  see — ah!  it  is  not  exactly 
what  might  be  called  a  subject  ...  A  scene 
from  an  old  Italian  romance  ...  by  one  little 
known,  in  the  world  of  letters  at  least.     It  will, 


24  MARS   DISARMED. 

I  hope,  prove  a  pleasant  diversion  for  Mademoi- 
selle. 

Alixe. 

[Taking  her  seat  in  the  old  arm-chair  with  high 
hack.~\     I  am  interested. 

BiRSON. 

[Going  to  the  table  and  turning  over  the  pages  of 
the  MS.  Apparently  embarrassed.^  The  origi- 
nal is  in  Italian;  the  translation  is  my  own. 
[He  takes  a  position  at  the  head  of  the  table,  op- 
posite Alixe.  He  recites  mainly  from  memory, 
referring  occasionally  to  the  MS.  His  delivery  is 
slow  and  clear;  his  attitude  and  manner  that  of  a 
poet  reciting  his  verses  to  his  lady-love.^  On  the 
wooded  banks  of  the  Arno,  not  far  from  the 
ancient  city  of  Florence,  stood  a  palace  sur- 
rounded by  a  vast  domain.  Here,  attended  by 
her  maids,  lived  the  Princess  Amarinta — now  in 
her  sixteenth  year — the  sole  survivor  of  the 
princely  house  of  Borimenti.  The  last  worldly 
act  of  her  father  was  to  confide  her  to  the  care  of 
Luigi,  his  faithful  secretary — a  man  of  noble 
birth  but  shattered  fortune.  The  austerity  of 
Luigi's  life  compensated,  in  the  Prince's  eyes,  for 
his  lack  of  years.  His  child  would  be  safe  in 
the  hands  of  one  who,  without  the  priest's  robes, 
had  all  the  priest's  virtues.  But  mortals,  for 
being  austere,  are  none  the  less  mortal.  They 
have  eyes  which  reflect  the  beauty  around  them; 
they  have  passions  which  surge  within  them. 
Luigi,  having  vainly  resisted  his  nature,  became 


MARS   DISARMED.  25 

a  slave  to  the  charms  of  the  fair  Princess.  But 
his  heart  beat  secretly;  his  tongue  was  silent,  and 
Amarinta  little  dreamed  there  dwelt  in  her 
palace  one  who  found  within  its  gloomy  walls 
more  than  the  entire  outer  world  could  offer. 
She — she  sighed  to  wander  beyond  those  walls, 
to  find  that  which  she  could  not  find  within. 
Timidly  at  first,  and  then  with  increased  candor, 
she  spoke  to  Luigi  of  many  things  of  which  she 
had  heard;  of  the  great  cities — Florence,  Rome, 
Naples.  And  he,  with  solemn  look,  shook  his 
head  and  said,  "  Snares  these  cities  be;  traps 
for  the  unwary;  traps  for  morals,  for  unsuspect- 
ing virtue."  When,  anon  and  again,  the  Prin- 
cess thus  spoke  of  the  world  without,  Luigi  grew 
sad,  and  deemed  his  fair  world  approaching  an 
end.  Once,  alas  for  him!  she  asked  if  there 
lived  in  her  day,  as  of  old,  knights  who  were 
handsome  and  bold,  who,  to  win  their  lady's 
hand,  sought  adventure  in  distant  lands,  return- 
ing with  laurels  on  their  brow.  She  had  read  of 
such  in  books;  did  they  live  in  the  flesh? 
Luigi,  with  severe  brow  but  tender  voice,  bade 
her  beware  of  the  poet's  fancy — the  glamour  of 
romance.  The  days  of  chivalry  were  over  .  .  . 
her  books  referred  to  times  of  long,  long  ago. 

\_Page  enters.'] 

BiRSON. 

[Looking   angrily    at   page.]     Is   it   important 
that  you  should  disturb  me  ? 


26  MARS   DISARMED. 

Page. 

[With  an  air  of  triumph.']  A  letter  for  Mad- 
emoiselle I 

Alixe. 

[As  the  page  advances  towards  her.]  Can  it  be 
news  from  Eugene?  [She  opens  the  letter  and 
reads  it.]  Alas  no!  Others,  like  myself,  are 
anxious  for  news  of  him.  [She  goes  to  the  table, 
writes  a  short  note,  which  she  hands  to  page. 
Page  ivithdraws.]  How  good  our  neighbors  are 
.  .  .  Monsieur  de  Birson,  I  was  following  you 
with  interest.     Pray  continue. 

Birson. 

[Resuming  his  attitude  and  continuing  the  nar- 
rative.] Day  by  day  the  Princess  grew  more 
restless,  like  a  bird,  long  caged,  sighing  for  the 
fields  and  forests.  Her  maids  worried  as  they 
noticed  her  increasing  melancholy.  The  oldest 
of  them  made  bold  to  speak  to  Luigi.  *'I  fear," 
she  said,  "our  mistress,  the  Princess,  is  pining 
away.  She  craves  excitement;  she  craves  .  .  ." — 
"Youth  craves  many  things,"  quoth  Luigi;  "but 
is  not  the  bitterness  of  ignorance  less  than  that 
of  knowledge?  The  world  of  our  imagination  is 
fairer  than  the  world  of  our  vision.  Should  we, 
willfully,  draw  aside  the  veil  of  Illusion,  beyond 
which  is  concealed  the  specter  of  Disenchant- 
ment? The  fool's  paradise  is  at  least  a  paradise. 
The  wise  man — so  called — lives  in  a  laboratory, 
a  dissecting-room;    he  analyzes  all  things  and 


MARS   DISARMED.  27 

learns  to  despise  all  things  .  .  ." — ''Ah  me!" 
sighed  the  duenna;  "you  are  a  learned  man." 
And  returning  to  the  maids,  she  whispered  with 
an  air  of  wisdom,  "  The  Princess  is  unhappy  as 
she  is,  it  is  true;  but  might  she  not  be  unhappier 
if  she  were  otherwise  than  she  is?" 

Luigi  continued  to  hear — too  often  for  his 
peace  of  mind! — of  the  outer  world,  of  brave 
knights,  of  bold  deeds,  and  he  began  to  fear  lest 
— unless  he,  himself,  proved  brave  and  bold — joy 
should  vanish  from  his  life  forever  .  .  .  One 
soft,  quiet  evening,  as  the  sun,  in  a  blaze  of 
color,  was  setting  beyond  the  trees  on  the  southern 
bank  of  the  Arno,  Amarinta  sat  at  her  lattice, 
gazing  less  at  the  scene  before  her  than  meditat- 
ing on  what  lay  beyond  her  view,  when  Luigi, 
moved  by  some  power  beyond  his  control,  entered 
the  room  and  stood  in  her  presence. 

"  Fair  Princess,"  he  said — his  voice  trembling 
with  emotion — "  do  you  deem  it  audacious  of 
mortal  to  gaze  at  the  sun  in  the  heavens?  " 

"  The  sun  is  in  the  heavens  to  give  light  and 
warmth  to  mortals,"  answered  Amarinta. 

"  Fair  Princess,  do  you  deem  it  presumptuous 
of  the  violet  to  rest  on  the  bosom  of  the  maiden?  "^ 

"  For  that  purpose,"  replied  Amarinta,  "  the 
violet  is  sought  and  is  prized." 

"And  what,  O  Princess!  would  you  think  of 
the  slave  who  dared  look  longingly  in  the  eyes 
of  his  mistress?  " 

"Ah,  therein,  I  surmise,  lies  something  of  a  dif- 
ference." 

"  And  yet,  fair  Princess,  less  difference  lies  be- 


28  MARS   DISARMED. 

tween  the  slave  and  his  mistress,  than  between 
the  violet  and  the  maiden.  They,  at  least,  are  of 
the  same  nature;  both  have  hearts,  both  have 
passions  .  .  ." 

"  True/'  said  the  Princess  ..."  Continue, 
good  Luigi,  continue  ..."  But  Luigi  stood 
silent  and  dared  not  proceed. 

[Reciting  these  last  lines,  Birson's  voice  betrays 
his  inner  thoughts.  With  one  hand  he  rests 
against  the  table,  while  the  other  nervously 
clutches  the  MS.'\ 

Alixe. 
Continue  .  .  . 

BiRSON. 

[With  faltering  voice.^     I  cannot. 

Alixe. 

Continue,  I  pray  you.  Monsieur  de  Birson;  I 
would  know  the  end.  [Birson  remains  silent — 
now  looking  fixedly  at  the  floor,  then,  in  a  semi-im- 
ploring loay,  at  Alixe.  The  latter,  alarmed,  rises 
and  approaches  him.^  The  story  you  have  re- 
lated has  affected  you  deeply. 

Birson. 
[With  suppressed  emotion.']     It  has — deeply. 

Alixe. 
Yet  it  is  but  fiction. 


MARS   DISARMED.  29 

BiRSON. 

[With  emphasis.']     It  is  reality. 

Alixe. 
Its  characters  are  dead. 

BiRSON. 

They  both  live. 

Alixe. 
Where  ? 

BiRSON. 

In  this  chateau. 

Alixe. 
Who  are  they? 

BiRSON. 

[After  a  moments  pause.]  The  Princess  is 
yourself;  her  lover  [he  falls  on  his  knees  before 
her]  myself. 

[Page  enters.     Birson,  confused,  rises.] 

Page. 

The  Marquis  de  Mirvoisiii  desires  to  see  Mon- 
sieur. 

BiRSON. 

[Impatiently.]     That   ever-present    nephew   of 


30  MARS   DISARMED. 

« 

mine!     Tell  him  I  am  engaged  .  .  .  that  I  can- 
not see  him. 

Alixe. 

Pardon,  Monsieur  de  Birson — I  should  like  to 
see  Monsieur  de  Mirvoisin.  Maybe  he,  or  some 
of  his  friends,  has  later  news  from  Friedland. 

[BiRSON,  disconcerted,  looks  appealingly  at 
Alixe.  Page  opens  door.  The  Marquis — 
a  bright,  jovial  young  man,  in  riding  suit — 
comes  in  with  a  dash,  but,  upon  perceiving 
Alixe,  he  stops  short  and  bows  low.^ 

Mirvoisin. 

I  crave  your  pardon.  Mademoiselle,  for  appear- 
ing before  you  thus.  In  truth,  I  expected  to  see 
my  uncle  alone — but,  for  once,  realization  has 
surpassed  expectation.     [He  kisses  her  hand.^ 

Alixe. 

You  will  be  forgiven  cheerfully.  Monsieur  de 
Mirvoisin,  if  you  give  me  tidings  of  my  brother. 
Have  you  heard  from  him,  or  of  him? 

Mirvoisin. 

It  pains  me  to  be  unable  to  give  the  an- 
swer you  desire.  But  rest  assured.  Mademoiselle, 
that  one  so  favored  by  fortune — loved  by  the 
fairest  of  sisters  and  cared  for  by  the  mightiest  of 
emperors — will  never  be  in  a  position  other  than 
to  awaken  the  envy  of  all  men. 


MARS   DISARMED.  31 

Alixe. 

I  pray  this  may  be  so.  And  now — since  you 
came  to  see  Monsieur  de  Birson,  and  not  me — I 
leave  you  to  his  good  care. 

[Alixe    goes   out — the  Marquis   bowing   low 
and  following  her  with  his  eyes.'] 

MiRVOISIN. 

Ah,  uncle,  there  is  in  that  woman  a  charm — a 
something,  I  know  not  what — which  makes  me 
feel  that  I  would  do  great,  yes,  desperate,  things 
to  win  her. 

BiRSON. 

[Sarcastically^  I  have  heard  something  to 
that  effect  before. 

MiRVOISIN. 

I  know  I  have  been  in  love  ere  this — and  often 
— but  until  I  saw  Mademoiselle  Vimont  I  never 
felt  what  is  called,  and  truly  called,  a  grand  pas- 
sion. And  do  you  know — why  should  I  not  tell 
you,  since  you  are  so  close  to  me  ? — there  is  an 
inner  voice  which  whispers  that  she  is  not  indif- 
ferent to  my  love.     It  is  not  conceit  .  .  . 

BiRSON. 

[Raising  his  eyes.]     Conceit,  indeed! 

MiRVOISIN. 

But  when  I  bring  her  hand  to  my  lips,  I  feel  it 


32  MARS   DISARMED. 

tremble,  and  I  fancy  it  lingers  willingly  within 
my  grasp. 

BiRSON. 

Your  fancy  does  offense  to  your  modesty. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Ah,  uncle,  dear,  cynical  uncle — you  sneer  at 
all  this. 

BiRSON. 

Cynicism  may  be  part  of  my  composition,  but 
obviously  intuition  does  not  enter  into  yours. 

MiRVOISIN. 

I  have  often  heard  you  state — wherein,  by  the 
way,  I  do  not  agree  with  you — that  the  Bona- 
partists  are  all  parvenus. 

BiRSON. 

With  rare  exceptions,  they  are. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Admitting,  for  the  sake  of  argument,  your 
statement  to  be  true,  it  should  follow  that  an 
alliance  with  a  member  of  the  old  nobility  would 
be  exceedingly  gratifying  to  a  Bonapartist. 

BiRSON. 

[With  an  air  of  satisfaction.^  I  quite  agree 
with  you. 


MAES   DISARMED,  33 

MiRVOISIN. 

It  would  give  them  a  cachet  which  they  other- 
wise lack. 

BiRSON, 

I  fully  agree  with  you. 

MiRVOISIN. 

It  would  also  give  them  that  which,  according 
to  you,  they  need — a  foundation  of  stability. 

BiRSON. 

I  agree  with  you  there,  also;  but  where  I  do 
not  agree  with  you  is,  that  the  Vimonts,  who  un- 
doubtedly aspire  to  all  this,  need  fall  back  on  you 
to  secure  it. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Ah,  indeed!  [With  malicious  smile.']  And, 
pray,  what  would  be  their  objections  to  me? 

BiRSON. 

\_With  an  air  of  authority.']  Be  satisfied  with 
the  information  I  offer — that  they  will  secure 
what  they  wish  in  that  line,  and  will  secure  it 
without  your  intervention. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Would  the  objections,  you  imagine,  come  from 
Mademoiselle  Vimont,  or  from  her  brother  ? 


or  THE 

V/N?  3ITY 


34  MARS   DISARMED. 

BiRSON. 

Your  question  is  pointed.  The  Colonel  would 
object  .  .  .  but  that  I  put  aside  as  of  little  con- 
sequence. 

MiRVOISIN. 

By  that  you  mean? 

BiRSON. 

Simply  this:  foolhardiness  must  meet  the  fate 
it  courts.  A  man  may  brave  the  cannon's  mouth 
once,  twice,  a  dozen  times  perhaps,  but  the  can- 
non's day  will  come.  [Mysteriously.']  Have  not 
more  than  two  months  elapsed  since  Friedland, 
and  not  a  sign  from  him  ? 

MiRVOISIN. 

He  may  be  the  bearer  of  his  own  sign — your 
forebodings  notwithstanding.  But  tell  me,  uncle 
mine,  you  who  know  so  much,  who  is  the  lucky 
man  who  is  to  win  Mademoiselle  Vimont's  hand? 

BiRSON. 

Inquisitiveness  seldom  hears  the  answer  it 
expects.  [A  pause.]  By  the  way,  who  do  you 
imagine  will  be  the  lucky  man? 

MiRVOISIN. 

Supposing  I  were  to  tell  you  it  was  I  .  .  .  what 
would  you  say  ? 


MARS   DISARMED.  35 

BiRSON. 

I  would  say  that,  like  iEsop's,  your  mind  runs 
to  fables. 

MiRVOISIN. 

It  is  in  the  fable  we  find  the  greatest  truth. 

BiRSON. 

Your  assertion  is  the  fable  minus  the  truth. 

MiRVOISIN. 

It  is  the  truth  minus  the  fable.     [Taking  Bir- 
son's  hands.~\     Congratulate  me,  uncle. 

BiRSON. 

[Drawing  his  hands  away^  You  .  .  .  You  .  .  . 
I  do  not  believe  it. 

MiRVOISIN, 

Your  disbelief  does  not  alter  the  fact. 

BiRSON. 

[With  bitterness.']     Did  you  propose  to  Madem- 
oiselle Vimont  ? 

MiRVOISIN. 

I  did. 

BiRSON. 

Did  she  say  ''yes"? 


86  MARS    DISARMED. 

MiRVOISIN. 

She  did  not  say  "  no.'* 

BiRSON. 

Ah  I  as  I  thought  .  .  .  like  a  woman,  you 
jumped  at  a  conclusion. 

MiRVOISIN. 

No — unlike  you,  I  did  not  jump  at  a  conclu- 
sion. 

BiRSON. 

What,  then,  did  she  say? 

MiRVOISIN. 

She  said  what  I  knew — what  you  know — that 
having  promised  her  brother  not  to  engage  herself 
definitely  without  first  consulting  him,  I  should 
have  to  wait — that  he  would  return  before  long, 
and  then  ...  Is  it  clear  enough  ? 

BiRSON. 

It  would  be  clearer  if  your  statement  were  con- 
firmed by  the  young  lady  herself  ...  I  propose 
to  ascertain  ... 

MiRVOISIN. 

\^\Vith  an  angry  movement.^  It  will  be  at  your 
peril !  .  .  .  Now  mark  what  I  say — if  you  betray 
my  secret,  which  is  also  her  secret,  not  only  will 


MARS   DISARMED.  37 

you  incur  her  eternal  displeasure,  but  [^changing 
his  voice  to  gentler  tones]  you  will  injure  my 
cause,  and  this,  dear  uncle,  I  know  you  would 
not  do.  [A  moment'' s  pause,  during  which  Birson 
shows  great  nervousness.  Mirvoisin  approaches 
him  and  takes  his  hands  affectionately.]  May  I 
not  depend  on  you  to  remain  silent  on  what  1^ 
have  just  revealed  to  you  ?  May  I  not  count  also 
on  your  material  assistance  ?  Praise  me  to  Mad- 
emoiselle Vimont — you  can  praise  so  sweetly 
when  you  desire;  to  Vimont,  when  he  returns, 
relate  my  virtues,  even  exaggerate  them — this, 
coming  from  you,  will  not  be  out  of  place — and" 
you  exaggerate  so  artfully  when  the  spirit  moves 
you. 

BiRSON. 

\^]Vith  affected  calmness.]  I  shall,  as  you  re- 
quest, remain  silent  in  regard  to  the  statement 
you  have  just  made;  silent,  also,  I  shall  remain 
in  regard  to  the  praises  you  would  have  me  sing 
in  your  behalf.  I  cannot  utter  words  which  do 
not  find  an  echo  in  my  heart.  Nay,  if  I  spoke  at 
all,  I  should  express  indignation  that  you,  a 
Mirvoisin — a  Mirvoisin  whose  ancestors  have 
been  loaded  with  favors  by  the  King — should 
think  of  allying  yourself  to  a  family  whose  head 
is  fighting  under  the  usurper's  banner. 

Mirvoisin. 
Still  harping  on  that  subject! 


38  MARS   DISARMED. 

BiRSON. 

Since  you  present  it  to  me,  why  should  I  not 
harp  thereon?  The  step  you  have  taken  con- 
vinces me  of  that  which  I  have  long  suspected: 
your  total  lack  of  principles. 

MiRVOISIN, 

Principles,  esteemed  uncle,  are  excellent  things 
so  long  as  they  can  be  followed.  Where  they  can- 
not be  followed,  you  might  as  well  chase  rain- 
bows— beautiful,  certainly,  but  as  useless  as  they 
are  intangible.  You  do  reverence  to  dead  princi- 
ples; I  do  reverence  to  living  ones.  Were  the 
King  alive,  no  more  loyal  subject  would  he  have 
than  I;  no  more  vaUant  soldier — but  Royalty  is 
no  more. 

BiRSON. 

[With  emphasis.']  Royalty  never  dies.  The 
King  is  dead;  long  live  the  King! 

MiRVOISIN. 

But  where  is  the  King?  Where  his  court,  his 
courtiers?  Who  witnesses  his  presence?  Who 
hears  his  commands?  The  King  is  dead,  and  no 
King  lives  to  take  his  place.  Napoleon  lives,  he 
reigns  .  .  . 

BiRSON. 

He  usurps  .  .  . 


MARS   DISARMED.  39 

MiRVOISIN. 

He  is  an  actuality — a  personality. 

BiRSON. 

He  is  a  dark  cloud; — a  shadow — passing  over 
France. 

MiRVOISIN. 

A  shadow! — a  shadow,  the  hero  of  Marengo!  a 
shadow,  the  victor  of  Austerlitz!  a  shadow,  the 
conqueror  at  Friedland!  a  shadow,  the  power 
which  compelled  Austria,  Prussia,  Russia,  to  bite 
the  dust,  and  made  of  France  the  mistress  of 
Europe.  Ah,  let  us.  Royalists  at  heart,  bow  to 
the  inevitable,  especially  since  it  is  a  glorious 
inevitable ! 

BiRSON. 

What  words  from  one  who  once  professed  loy- 
alty to  his  country! 

MiRVOISIN. 

[Striking  his  chest.']     And  still  professes  it! 

BiRSON. 

It  is  obvious  that  you  have  caught  the  conta- 
gion of  the  age — the  spirit  of  revolution,  of  change. 
That  the  timid  and  the  adventurous  should 
submit  to  the  new  order  of  things,  I  understand — 
but  you  .  .  . 


40  MARS    DISARMED. 

MiRVOISIN. 

And  you — have  you  not  submitted  to  the  new 
order  of  things  in  a  most  striking  manner — sec- 
retary to  a  Bonapartist  colonel;  preceptor  to  his 
Bonapartist  sister  ?     [Laughs.'\ 

BiRSON. 

If  I  submit,  it  is,  as  you  well  know,  because 
circumstances  compel  me.  You,  on  the  contrary, 
still  have  wealth;  you  are  independent  .  .  . 

MiRVOISIN. 

^Sarcastically.']  What  would  you  have  me  do 
— overthrow  Bonaparte? 

[Alixe  enters,  in  an  excited  state,  a  letter  in 
her  hand.]  • 

Alixe. 

I  have  news  from  Eugene  .  .  .  news  .  .  .  but 
what  news!  {^She  hands  the  letter  to  Birson.] 
Read  it. 

Birson. 

[Glancing  at  the  letter.]  From  Colonel  Les- 
trier!  [He  reads.]  I  write  at  the  command  of 
the  Emperor.  It  is  with  mixed  feelings  of  grief 
and  joy  that  I  fulfill  the  duty  imposed  upon  me 
by  his  Majesty.  Your  brother,  Colonel  Vimont, 
distinguished  himself  gallantly  at  Friedland. 
He  won  the  approval  of  the  Emperor,  the  admira- 
tion of  the  army,  and  an  enduring  place  in  the 


MARS   DISARMED,  41 

realms  of  Fame.  Unfortunately,  and  by  a  re- 
markable coincidence — rare  even  in  the  strange 
annals  of  war — he  was,  within  the  space  of  a  few 
moments^  wounded  in  the  two  arms,  necessitat- 
ing the  amputation  of  both  members.  But  be 
reassured.  Mademoiselle;  your  esteemed  brother, 
whose  valuable  life  was  once  despaired  of,  now 
enjoys  excellent  health.  You  may  expect  to  em- 
brace him  shortly  after  the  receipt  of  this  letter. 

It  affords  me  a  lively  satisfaction.  Mademoi- 
selle, to  inform  you  that  it  has  pleased  his  Ma- 
jesty the  Emperor,  in  recognition  of  Colonel 
Vimont's  gallant  services,  to  promote  him  to  the 
rank  of  General  and  to  confer  on  him  the  cordon 
of  the  Legion  of  Honor. 

I  beg  of  you,  Mademoiselle,  to  accept  the  ex- 
pression of  my  most  distinguished  consideration. 

Lestrier. 

[BiRSON,    embarrassed,    hands    the    letter    to 
Alixe.] 

Alixe. 
I  know  not  whether  to  mourn  or  to  rejoice. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Rejoice,  Mademoiselle,  rejoice.  Let  us  be 
thankful  that  where  so  many  brave  men  lost 
their  lives,  the  bravest  of  all  only  lost  his  arms. 

Alixe. 
True,  it  is  fitting  we  should  rejoice — for  has  he 


42  MARS   DISARMED. 

not  escaped  the  grave  by  the  rarest  of  miracles? 
.  .  .  Ah,  what  joy  to  think  he  Uves — that  every 
instant  brings  him  nearer  to  us — that  he  may  be 
here  at  any  moment  .  .  .  Quick!  we  must  pre- 
pare. Let  the  chateau  assume  a  festal  appear- 
ance; let  the  flag  be  unfurled  from  the  eastern 
turret.  .  .  .  You,  Monsieur  de  Mirvoisin,  do  me 
a  service.  I  cannot,  in  my  present  state  of  mind, 
write  to  our  friends  to  give  them  the  news.  Will 
you  see  them — the  Marsigneries,  the  Marots, 
Fresney,  all  of  them — and  say  I  wish  them  to  at- 
tend a  little  fete  the  day  after  Eugene's  arrival — 
to  drink  to  his  health  and  celebrate  his  return. 

Mirvoisin. 

I  am  always  at  your  service,  Mademoiselle,  but 
never  more  cheerfully  so  than  on  this  occasion. 

\_He  kisses  her  hand,  and  goes  out  J] 

Alixe. 

You,  Monsieur  de  Birson,  be  good  enough  to 
tell  Edmond  to  see  that  Eugene's  apartments  are 
prepared. 

Birson. 
Mademoiselle  ... 

Alixe. 
[Listening.^     What  is  that  I  hear  ? 


MARS   DISARMED,  43 

BiRSON. 

Mademoiselle   .  .  . 

Alixe. 

Listen.  [^The  cracking  of  whips j  the  tramping 
of  horses,  and  rolling  of  wheels  are  heard  in  the 
courtyard.  Alixe  rushes  to  the  window.^  It  is 
he  I  it  is  he!  \_She  goes  to  the  door,  which  opens 
at  her  approach,  and  Eugene,  in  the  uniform  of  a 
General,  enters.  He  is  young,  and  wears  a  military 
cape  to  conceal  the  loss  of  his  arms.  Alixe  throws 
her  arms  around  his  neck.~\  Thanks  be  to  heaven 
— here  you  are  at  last! 

ViMONT. 

[  Wearily.']     Yes,  here  I  am — what  is  left  of  me. 

Alixe. 

[Disappointed.]  What!  You  do  not  seem 
happy  to  see  me. 

ViMONT. 

Yes,  I  am  happy  to  see  you — happier,  no  doubt, 
to  see  you  well  and  strong,  than  you  to  see  me 
thus. 

Alixe. 

It  is  you — that  suffices  .  .  .  Let  me  remove 
your  kolbach. 


44  MARS   DISARMED. 

ViMONT. 

[Shaking  his  head  impatiently.'}  No!  [He  sits 
in  an  arm-chair.  A  servant  offers  to  remove  his 
cape.  He  rises  abruptly,  and,  with  an  angry  look, 
says  in  a  loud  voice.}  Leave  me  alone  I  I  am 
not  paralyzed,  impotent.  I  know  what  I  want; 
I  do  what  I  desire.  [With  a  sudden,  rapid  move- 
ment of  the  head,  he  throws  his  kolhach  to  the  floor, 
and  turning  to  the  servant.}  My  cape  remains;  I 
wish  it  to  remain.     Do  you  understand  ? 

[Every  one  has  a  frightened  look.  Birson 
withdraws  to  a  corner.  The  servants  escape 
from  the  room.  Alixe  approaches  her 
brother,  places  her  hands  on  his  shoulders, 
looks  appealingly  into  his  eyes.} 


END   OF   FIRST   ACT. 


THE   SECOND  ACT. 

THE    DESCRIPTION    OP   FRIEDLAND. 

Time:  Afternoon  of  the  Following  Day. 

Terrace  adjoining  chateau,  a  wing  of  which  is  seen. 
Large  overhanging  tree,  through  the  branches 
of  which  appears  a  landscape  in  the  distance. 
Broad  steps,  to  the  left,  lead  up  to  the  terrace, 
in  the  wall  of  which  is  a  curved  stone  seat. 
A  table,  with  books  and  papers — several  chairs 
— shrubs  in  large  pots.  A  gardener  is  pla- 
cing a  few  plants  on  the  terrace.  Edmond  is 
arranging  the  tables  and  chairs.  They  stop 
near  the  steps,  the  gardener  with  a  flower-pot 
in  hand,  Edmond  holding  on  to  the  back  of  a 
chair.  The  latter  acts  nervously,  as  though 
afraid  of  being  surprised. 

Gardener. 
Is  he  very  much  changed? 

Edmond. 

What  a  question?  Suppose  you  were  to  lose 
two  of  something  you  have  on  your  body — two 
legs,  two  ears,  two  eyes — wouldn't  you  be 
changed? 

45 


46  MARS   DISARMED. 

Gardener. 
I  suppose  so — but  it  might  have  been  worse. 

Edmond. 

In  one  way,  yes;  in  another  way,  no.  When 
he  lets  loose  his  temper  [he  looks  around  anxi- 
ously] it  would  put  a  whole  regiment  to  flight. 

Gardener. 

It  is  fortunate,  then,  that,  with  such  a  temper, 
he  has  no  arms  to  strike  with. 

Edmond. 

IdiotI  Can't  you  understand — it  is  because  he 
lost  his  arms  that  he  loses  his  temper. 

Gardener. 

That's  so.  Then  we  had  better  keep  away 
from  his  boots. 

Edmond. 

[Looking  towards  chateau.]  Here  he  comes — 
let  us  escape. 

[They  disappear  below  the  terrace.  Vimont, 
in  uniform,  followed  by  his  orderly,  emerges 
from  the  chateau.  He  stands  near  the  wall 
of  the  terrace,  and  looks  out  at  the  country 
before  him — then  he  turns  suddenly  to 
orderly.] 


MARS   DISARMED.  47 

ViMONT. 

Audre — the  Moniteur. 

Audr:6. 
Yes,  General. 

[^Orderly  enters  chateau  and  returns  in  an  in- 
stant. He  spreads  the  Moniteur  on  the 
table.  ViMONT  sits  down  and  scans  the 
sheet.'\ 

ViMONT. 

\_After  reading  a  whilcl^  What  is  this?  .  .  . 
[Reads  further.]  Of  course,  of  course — it  is  as  I 
expected  .  .  .  Renaud  is  promoted  .  .  .  Another 
campaign,  and  he'll  be  a  marshal.  \_He  reads 
further.]  Ah!  England  is  being  aroused  .  .  . 
Humph  I  She  had  better  beware,  or  London  will 
witness  the  same  scenes  as  did  Vienna  and 
Berlin  .  .  .  With  a  genius  like  the  Emperor's, 
the  channel  counts  for  naught  .  .  .  Audre,  turn 
the  page.  [Audre  does  as  directed.  After  glan- 
cing over  the  columns,  Vimont  rises  and  paces  the 
terrace  impatiently.]  Yes,  yes,  everywhere  there 
is  feverish  excitement — everything  is  in  a  state 
of  turmoil — everyone  on  the  tiptoe  of  expectancy 
— the  map  of  Europe  is  being  changed — great 
events  are  preparing — the  world  moves,  and  here 
I  am,  like  a  prisoner,  caged  in  a  castle  .  .  . 

[Alixe,   in    Empire    gown,    appears    on    the 
terrace.     After  embracing  him,  she   stands 
for   a   moment,    looking    at    him    silently. 
Orderly  withdraws.] 


48  MARS   DISARMED. 

Alixe. 

Ah,  Eugene,  what  a  joy  it  is  to  have  you  home 
again  I 


Even  as  I  am? 


Even  as  you  are. 


ViMONT. 


Alixe. 


ViMONT. 


Alas!  I  cannot  embrace  and  caress  you  as  of 
yore,  Alixe. 

Alixe. 

No — but  I  can  embrace  and  caress  you.  [She 
places  her  arms  around  his  neck.'\  You  will  never 
Know  the  loss  of  your  arms;  mine  will  replace 
yours,  and  do  for  you  what  your  own  would  have 
done.  [He  looks  at  her  affectionately,  suppresses 
a  sigh,  and  falls  heavily  into  a  seat.  She  sits  on  a 
stool,  at  his  feet.'\     You  are  tired,  Eugene? 

ViMONT. 

Yes,  I  am  tired.  It  will  take  many  days  to 
recover  from  that  long,  wearisome  trip — and 
under  such  circumstances. 

Alixe. 

I  regret  now  having  asked  our  friends  to 
meet  you  so  soon  after  your  arrival — but  they 


MARS   DISARMED.  49 

were  so  anxious  to  welcome   you  and  celebrate 
your  return. 

ViMONT. 

Celebrate  my  return!  .  .  .  Your  thought  was 
a  kind  one,  I  know,  Alixe;  but  {looJcing  at  his 
sides,  where  once  his  arms  were^  does  this  call  for 
celebration? 

Alixe. 

[Embarrassed. ~\     But  why  .  .  .  why  not? 

ViMONT. 

Look  at  mel  Armless,  useless,  a  subject  of 
curiosity.     People  will  ridicule  me. 

Alixe. 

Oh,  no!  Ridicule  a  brave  general,  who  lost 
his  arms  in  the  service  of  his  Emperor — never! 

ViMONT. 

A  general  without  an  army;  a  general,  alas! 
who  will  never  again  mount  a  horse,  never  again 
see  a  battlefield,  never  again  serve  his  country — 
my  uniform  becomes  a  mockery,  and  people,  I 
tell  you,  mock  me. 

Alixe. 
I  cannot  believe  it. 

ViMONT. 

Believe  it  or  not,  it  is  a  fact.     While  eating  in 


50  MARS   DISARMED. 

a  cafe  in  a  frontier  town,  four  days  ago,  all  eyes 
were  turned  on  me,  and  as  my  orderly  cut  the 
meat  and  brought  it  to  my  mouth,  the  onlookers 
chuckled  .  .  .  the  brutes!  [Edmond  enters.'] 

Edmond. 

The  tenants  are  here  and  express  a  desire 
to  .  .  . 

ViMONT. 

I  do  not  wish  to  see  them — to  see  anyone. 
[He  rises  to  leave.] 

Alixe. 

Eugene!  .  .  .  Receive  them  —  they  will  re- 
main but  a  moment. 

ViMONT. 

[Impatiently.']  Very  well.  [To  Edmond.]  I'll 
see  them.  [Edmond  goes  out.]  How  many  or- 
deals shall  I  have  to  go  through  ?  [He  paces  the 
terrace.]  You  will  see  that  my  tenants,  like 
everyone  else,  will  feel  embarrassed  on  approach- 
ing me. 

[The  tenants — ten  or  twelve  in  number — as- 
cend the  steps  J  escorted  by  Edmond.  They 
wear  the  costume  of  the  day.  Their  embar- 
rassment is  obvious.  They  bow  frequently. 
Some  say,  "Welcome,  Monsieur  Vimont"; 
others,  "Welcome,  Colonel";  others,  "  Wel- 
come, General."  Vimont  advances  to  meet 
them.] 


MARS   DISARMED.  51 

ViMONT. 

I  am  glad  to  see  you  again.  [An  old  farmer,  of 
quaint  appearance  and  comical  expression,  advances 
with  extended  hand  towards  Vimont,  who  retreats, 
as  the  farmer  advances,  to  escape  the  extended 
hand.  The  other  tenants  look  at  each  other, 
alarmed.']  My  arms  are  on  the  battlefield;  I  can- 
not shake  hands  with  you. 

Old  Farmer. 

[Looking  apologetically  at  his  companions.]  I 
had  forgotten  that.  [To  Vimont.]  We  are  glad 
to  see  you  home,  Colonel,  and  rejoice  that  you 
only  lost  your  arms  .  .  .  [Pause.]  May  the  Al- 
mighty, without  whose  will  nothing  happens, 
long  preserve  you  from  further  misfortunes  .  .  . 
[Silence.]  We  have  asked  Monsieur  Bosquet  to 
express  to  you  our  sentiments  on  this  auspicious 
occasion. 

[He  steps  aside,  and  Bosquet,  elaborately 
dressed  for  the  occasion,  moves  forward. 
Timidity,  combined  with  consciousness  of 
the  importance  of  his  mission,  gives  Bosquet 
an  awkward  appearance.  He  bows  low, 
coughs  loud,  unrolls  a  large  sheet  of  paper 
which  he  reads,  sometimes  fast,  sometimes 
slow,  halting  frequently  and  repeating  the 
last  word  of  each  sentence.] 

Bosquet. 
[Reading.]     Mon  General !     The   duties   of   a 


52  MARS   DISARMED. 

great  nation  are  divided — divided.  There  are 
those  whose  duty  it  is  to  cultivate  the  land  for 
the  people — the  people — and  those  whose  duty 
it  is  to  protect  the  land  from  the  invader — the  in- 
vader. We  are  amongst  the  first — first — you  are 
amongst  the  last — last.  We  have  endeavored  to 
perform  our  duty  to  the  best  of  our  ability,  and 
we  have  every  reason  to  beUeve  that  you  have 
done  the  same — the  same.  Have  you  not  fol- 
lowed the  great  Emperor  in  his  perilous  and  yet 
victorious  march  across  the  continent — conti- 
nent? Have  you  not  thrashed  the  Prussians,  the 
Russians,  the  Austrians,  the  whole  world — 
world?  Have  you  not  returned  from  the  war 
with  proof  of  your  bravery?  Mixed  with  our 
sincere  sympathy  for  you  and  for  Mademoiselle, 
your  sister,  are  sentiments  of  pride,  in  which  the 
entire  nation  joins — joins.  We  honor  j^ou  and  re- 
spect you,  and  you  may  always  count  on  our  de- 
votion and  attachment — attachment.  Long  live 
the  Emperor! 

\^He  bows  low  several  times  and  backs  awk- 
wardly into  his  companions.^ 

ViMONT. 

I  thank  you  all  for  your  kind  sentiments, 
which  I  reciprocate.  I  congratulate  you  upon 
still  being  able  to  perform  that  duty  which,  as 
you  say,  is  incumbent  on  a  portion  of  the  nation. 
[He  goes  amongst  them  and  addresses  a  few  words 
to  each.  He  stops  a  moment  before  a  tall,  robust 
fellow.']     How  have  you  been,  Vignier? 


MARS   DISARMED.  53 

ViGNIER. 

With  me,  General,  as  with  the  country — every- 
thing is  flourishing  since  the  great  Emperor 
rules  France.     I  have  but  one  anxiety. 

ViMONT. 

And  that  is? 

ViGNIER. 

That  I  may  be  called  at  the  next  conscription 
— for  I  have  no  boys  to  work  my  farm — but  par- 
dieu!  if  it  happens  that  way,  I'll  be  ready — I'll 
throw  down  the  spade  and  take  up  the  musket, 
and  shouting,  "  Long  live  the  Emperor,"  rush  to 
the  battlefield. 

ViMONT. 

Lucky  man  to  have  in  prospect  such  a  noble 
career  .  .  .  \_Tenants  withdraw  in  a  confused 
manner — some  bowing  to  Alixe,  others  to  Vimont 
— some  to  the  right,  others  to  the  left.  Vimont 
turns  to  his  sister.']  You  see  how  embarrassing 
it  is  for  me  and  for  others.  A  man  in  my  con- 
dition should  avoid  these  scenes. 

Alixe. 

You  are  oversensitive,  Eugene. '  Many  men 
have  Hved,  and  filled  the  world  with  their  fame, 
though  more  unfortunate  than  you.  There  was 
the  great  poet  ... 


H  MARS   DISARMED. 

ViMONT. 

Ah,  your  poet  is  a  writer  of  rhymes,  of  ballads, 
of  love  songs — a  dreamer!  I — I  am,  or  was,  a 
soldier,  a  man  of  action.  The  smell  of  powder 
was  my  incense,  the  roar  of  cannon  my  music, 
the  battlefield  my  playground.  Fame,  based  on 
performance;  fame,  based  on  heroic  deeds,  was 
my  ambition — and  now  .  .  .  now  all  is  over. 
My  life  can  be  of  no  further  use  to  myself  or  to 
others. 

Alixe. 
[^Chagrined J]    You  include  me  in  the  others? 

ViMONT. 

I  include  you  in  the  ''others,"  Alixe,  not  in 
accordance  with  my  desire,  but  in  recognition  of 
a  law  which,  perhaps,  it  is  best  you  should  sub- 
mit to.  You  are  young  .  .  .  you  are  beau- 
tiful .  .  .  you  are  rich;  you  will,  some  day, 
meet  one  to  whom  you  will  give  more,  to  whom 
you  will  owe  more,  than  to  your  poor  brother. 
Do  not  protest — it  is  well,  it  is  right,  that  you 
should  do  so.  My  life  would  be  a  double  burden 
to  bear,  were  I  to  realize  that  you,  sweet  Alixe, 
were  doomed  to  be  a  sister  of  charity — ever  tend- 
ing me,  ever  watching  by  my  side. 

Alixe. 

It  would  be  no  burdensome  task.  It  would 
pain  me  less,  far  less,  than  does  the  gloomy  view 
you  take  of  your  condition. 


MARS   DISARMED.  55 

ViMONT. 

Take!  I  do  not  take  it — it  is  forced  upon  me, 
impressed  upon  me — incessantly,  irresistibly — 
wherever  I  go.  I  cannot  escape  it  .  .  .  Ah!  the 
miserable  wretch!  I  remember  his  face  well — if 
only  I  could  have  smitten  it!  It  was  the  day  I 
left  the  hospital;  I  was  surrounded  by  some 
officers  and  a  few  civilians.  One  of  the  latter 
was  offering  me  consolation  for  what  he  termed 
my  great  misfortune.  He  spoke  as  though  it 
were  a  personal  mishap,  and  nothing  more, 
while  I,  a  soldier,  thinking  only  of  my  country, 
exclaimed,  "Alas!  what  grieves  me  most  is  that 
my  arms  are  lost  to  France." — "Console  your- 
self," muttered  a  bystander,  "Napoleon  still 
lives!"  .  .  .  Blindness,  lameness,  may  be  becom- 
ing to  a  poet,  but  an  armless  body  for  a 
soldier  ... 

Alixe. 

Forget  that  you  were  a  soldier;  remenaber  .  .  . 

ViMONT. 

Forget  that  I  was  a  soldier!  Forget  all  I  once 
aspired  to:  a  place  in  the  heart  of  my  country- 
men; a  page  in  the  annals  of  history — side  by 
side  with  the  greatest  heroes  of  all  time.  You,  of 
a  gentle  sex,  you  know  not  the  fire  of  ambition, 
the  allurements  of  fame.  You,  who  have  passed 
your  days  in  this  peaceful  abode;  you,  who  have 
never  wandered  in  the  fields  of  glory,  you  know 
naught  of  its  pleasures,  its  intoxication.     Ah!  to 


56  MARS   DISARMED. 

have  fought  at  Austerlitz  and  partaken  of  the 
feasts  of  Schonbrunn;  to  have  participated  in 
the  victory  of  Jena,  and  the  triumphant  entry  in 
the  great  Frederick's  capital;  to  have  seen  the 
mighty  hosts  of  the  north  flee  before  our  victori- 
ous eagles;  to  have  heard  the  shouts,  the  huz- 
zahs,  of  the  admiring  multitudes;  to  have  had 
the  great  Emperor  extend  his  imperial  hand  and 
place  on  my  breast  the  Cross  of  Honor;  to  have 
tasted  of  victory,  drunk  from  the  cup  of  glory, 
and  seen  rising  before  me  dazzling  altitudes  of 
fame,  and  then,  suddenly,  in  a  cruel  hour,  have 
the  ladder  I  was  ascending  cut  from  under 
me  .  .  .  and  you  wonder,  Alixe,  that  I  have  lost 
the  joy  of  living  1 

Alixe. 

That  was  the  dream  of  the  soldier  ...  it  is 
dispelled.  You  are  still  a  man,  and  other  vistas, 
less  glaring,  perhaps,  but  far  nobler,  open  up 
before  you.     War  .  .  . 

ViMONT. 

War  was  my  profession. 

Alixe. 

But  war  is  cruel — its  profession  inhuman.  You 
remember  its  glories  and  forget  its  horrors.  Vic- 
tory for  some  implies  defeat  for  others.  Triumph 
on  one  side  means  humiliation  on  the  other — 
and  oh!  the  tears,  the  anxiety — I  know  them,  I 
have  felt  them  .  .  . 


MARS   DISARMED.  57 

ViMONT. 

And  yet — what  am  I  to  do?     What  can  I  do? 

Alixe. 

The  world  is  large — its  occupations  many. 
There  are  emotions,  better,  nobler,  more  elevat- 
ing, than  those  which  war  engenders.  Surely,  if 
you  are  willing,  if  you  try,  if  you  look  around, 
you  will  find  something  to  occupy  you,  to  inter- 
est you.  [Alixe  rises  and  enters  the  chateau.  A 
minute  later,  an  old  melody — ^^  Amaryllis,^ ^  for  in- 
stance— is  heard  on  the  piano.  Vimont,  who  has 
been  -pacing  the  terrace  impatiently,  stops  suddenly 
as  he  hears  the  notes;  he  seems  to  waken,  as  though 
from  a  dream;  his  face  brightens;  he  listens  atten- 
tively. The  music  ceases.  Alixe  returns  to  her 
brother.']     Do  you  remember? 

Vimont. 
It  is  the  melody  Madeleine  used  to  play. 

Alixe. 
And  which  you  were  so  fond  of. 

Vimont. 

[Dreamingly^  Sweet  memories  of  youth — now 
buried  forever. 

Alixe. 

Sweet  memories  which  may  be  revived  .  .  . 
\^A  momenfs  silence.]  You  have  not  forgotten 
Madeleine? 


58  MARS   DISARMED. 

ViMONT. 

[^Sighing.^     No — I  have  not. 

Alixe. 
You  never  declared  your  love  to  her? 

ViMONT. 

I  never  dared  to. 

Alixe. 

You  so  brave — so  brave  as  to  face  a  score  of 
men,  you  dared  not  face  a  single  maiden. 

ViMONT. 

I  know  what  to  expect  from  a  score  of  men, 
but  not  from  the  single  maiden. 

Alixe. 

You  will  see  her   .    .    .   She  will  be  here  pres- 
ently. 

[Edmond  enters  and  announces^  as  they  arrive, 
the  guests,  who  come  on  the  terrace  from 
the  chateau.^ 

Edmond. 
The  Count  de  Fresney. 

Fresney. 
Welcome  home,  General.     We  have  heard  ac- 


MARS   DISARMED.  69 

counts  of  your  daring,  your  casting  aside  precau- 
tion and  defying  the  Fates.  Under  these  circum- 
stances, we  rejoice  that  you  return  to  us — if  not 
whole,  at  least  alive. 

ViMONT. 

Thank  you,  Fresney;  thank  you — though  ray 
view  of  the  case  differs  somewhat  from  yours. 

Fresney. 
Ah — I  see  .  .  .  You  mean  .  .  . 

Edmond. 

Monsieur  and  Madame  de  la  Marsignerie. 

[An  elderly,  distinguished  couple.  Monsieur 
goes  up  to  Vimont  and  places  both  hands 
on  his  shoulders.'] 

Marsignerie. 

Fate   is  kinder  to  us  than  to  you,  my  dear 
General — for  now,  I  hope,  we  shall  keep  you  here. 

Madame  de  la  Marsignerie. 

An  old  friend  of  your  mother,  I  claim  a  privi- 
lege. [She  kisses  him.'] 

Edmond. 
The  Marquis  de  Mirvoisin. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Welcome — a  hundred  times  welcome!     Believe 


60  MARS   DISARMED. 

me,  my  dear  Vimont,  you  came  none  too  soon  to 
relieve  the  anxiety  of  Mademoiselle  [he  hows  to 
Alixe],  as  well  as  that  of  a  host  of  friends. 

Edmond. 

Monsieur,  Madame,  and  Mademoiselle  de 
Marot. 

[When  Madeleine  de  Marot  makes  her  ap- 
pearance and  faces  Vimont,  a  silent  scene 
must  take  place — clear  in  its  meaning  and 
yet  not  over-demonstrative — wherein  the 
emotions  which  sway  them  both  are  be- 
trayed.^ 

Marot. 

You  see  we  lose  no  time.  Only  yesterday  did 
we  hear  of  your  arrival,  and  here  we  are  to  bid 
you  welcome. 

Vimont. 

[Embarrassed.^  I  thank  you — I  am  pleased  to 
see  you. 

Madame  de  Marot. 

Yours  was  not  the  only  household  which  re- 
joiced at  your  return. 

Vimont. 
You  are  indeed  kind,  Madame. 

Madeleine. 
We    are    deUghted    to    see    you    again,    and 


MARS    DISARMED.  61 

proud  too,  for  you  left  us  a  Colonel  and  return  a 
General. 

ViMONT. 

A  General — alas!  Mademoiselle — who  is  de- 
prived not  only  of  the  satisfaction  of  raising  his 
hand  against  the  enemy,  but  of  raising  to  his 
lips  the  hand  of  one  he  .  .  .  esteems. 

[Madeleine,  confused,  hesitates  a  moment, 
and  then  slowly  raises  her  hand  for  him  to 
kiss.  BiRsoN  enters  in  time  to  witness  this 
scene.  He  looks  on,  unobserved,  from  the 
rear  of  the  terrace.  Servants  bring  out 
chairs,  tables,  refreshments.  A  desultory 
conversation  ensues — the  ladies  sitting 
around,  the  tables — some  of  the  gentlemen 
leaning  over  to  talk  to  them.  Now  and 
then  a  ripple  of  laughter.  M.  de  la  Mar- 
siGNERiE  is  speaking  earnestly  to  Vimont. 
BiRSON  takes  Mirvoisin's  arm  and  leads 
him  aside.  He  whispers  to  him..  A  moment 
later  Mirvoisin  approaches  Madeleine  and 
pays  her  special  attention.  Vimont  is  in- 
different to  what  M.  de  la  Marsignerie  is 
telling  him.  He  watches  Madeleine  and 
Mirvoisin.] 

Fresney. 

[Approaching  Vimont.]  I  need  not  tell  you, 
my  dear  General,  that  the  entire  neighborhood 
has  shared  the  anxiety  of  Mademoiselle  Vimont 
on  your  account.  First  we  thought  the  mails 
had  miscarried  or  even,  perhaps,  been  inter- 
cepted.    Then   we  thought   you   were   mortally 


62  MARS   DISARMED. 

wounded;    then   we   thought  .  .  .  well,   in  sub- 
stance, we  did  not  know  what  to  think. 

[At  this  point  Madeleine  drops  her  handker- 
chief. ViMONT  rushes  to  pick  it  up  and 
suddenly  realizes  his  inability  to  do  so. 
Awkward  silence.  Mirvoisin  picks  it  up 
and  hands  it  to  Madeleine  with  a  how. 
Edmond  enters.'] 

Edmond. 

His  Honor  the  Mayor  of  Marcy,  accompanied 
by  a  delegation,  expresses  a  desire  to  pay  his 
respects. 

[ViMONT  looks  annoyed.  He  whispers  to 
Alixe,  who  argues  with  him,  and  then 
makes  a  sign  to  Edmond  to  admit  the  party. 
Edmond  goes  out.  The  ladies  keep  up  a 
lively  chatter  till  Edmond  reappears,  fol- 
lowed by  the  Mayor — a  corpulent,  pompous 
individual,  arrayed  in  the  regalia  of  his 
office.  He  is  accompanied  by  three  prosper- 
ous villagers.  All  bow  low  to  the  General, 
and  then  to  the  assembled  company.  The 
latter,  whenever  they  can  do  so  unobserved, 
give  evidence  of  the  amusement  afforded 
them  by  the  opera-bouffe  appearance  and 
performance  of  the  Mayor.] 

The  Mayor. 

[Giving  his  address  all  due  oratorical  effect.] 
Mon  General  I     We  have  come — I,  the  Mayor  of 


MARS   DISARMED.  63 

Marcy,  and  my  three  distinguished  colleagues, 
Monsieur  Rossignol,  Monsieur  Crespinet,  and 
Monsieur  Montjoli — whom  I  have  the  honor  to 
introduce  to  you — [he  maJces  a  sweeping  gesture 
to  the  entire  company,  while  his  three  colleagues 
how  frequently  and  low^ — to  say  that  we  claim 
the  privilege  to  share  with  your  family  and 
friends  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  once  more  in 
the  peaceful  valley  of  Marcy.  No  more,  no 
doubt,  will  you  hear  the  shouts  of  command, 
the  martial  music,  the  roar  of  cannon;  but  you 
will  find  compensation  for  these  in  the  tender 
voices  of  loved  ones,  in  the  rustic  music  of  field 
and  forest,  in  the  hum  of  industrial  life,  which, 
while  far  be  it  from  me  to  deprecate  the  noble 
profession  of  the  soldier,  is,  nevertheless,  fully  as 
essential  to  the  welfare  and  glory  of  the  nation. 
You  have  done  your  duty  nobly — [with  a  pa- 
tronizing air] — be  satisfied.  You  have  attained 
high  rank — step  aside  graciously,  and  leave  open 
to  others  the  road  to  promotion.  I  could,  as 
Mayor  of  this  flourishing  commune,  dwell  length- 
ily, and  with  some  authority,  upon  the  charms, 
also  the  responsibilities,  of  civic  life,  as  compared 
with  military  life;  but  I  shall  refrain  and  reserve 
my  observations  for  a  future,  and  more  suit- 
able, occasion.  Before  concluding,  however, 
permit  me,  my  dear  General — speaking  for  my- 
self, as  well  as  for  the  commune  I  have  the 
honor  to  preside  over — to  say  that  the  joy  we  ex- 
perience at  your  return  is  only  equaled  by  the 
regret  we  felt  when  you  left  us  to  follow  the  path 
of  glory   in   distant   lands.     Many   years   have 


64  MARS   DISARMED. 

elapsed  since  then;  you  have  served  your  Em- 
peror and  your  country  with  distinction;  your 
fame  has  preceded  you,  and  the  valor  of  your 
deeds  has  become  a  household  word  in  the 
cottages  as  well  as  in  the  manor-houses  of  the 
valley  of  Marcy.  Having  accompUshed  so 
much,  you  have  earned  a  rest.  Whatever  the 
love  of  your  family  and  the  respect  and  esteem 
of  your  neighbors  can  do  to  make  that  rest 
agreeable — Otium  cum  dignitate — will,  I  am  sure, 
be  done.  Once  more  I  bid  you  welcome.  May 
good  health  and  prosperity  always  attend  you 
and  yours.  Long  live  the  Emperor!  Long  live 
the  brave  General  VimontI 

[The   Mayor  uses   his   handkerchief  freely  to 
wipe  the  perspiration  from  his  brow.^ 

m 

ViMONT. 

I  thank  you,  Monsieur  le  Maire,  and  Messieurs 
your  colleagues,  for  your  friendly  visit  and  the 
kind  sentiments  you  have  expressed.  As  much 
as  I  regret  my  enforced  retirement  from  active 
service  in  the  army,  I  find  pleasure  and  comfort 
in  the  hearty  welcome  home  of  friends  and 
neighbors.  Once  more  I  thank  you.  [The  Mayor 
and  his  colleagues  how  low  and  are  about  to  with- 
draw, when  ViMONT,  after  a  moments  hesitation, 
addresses  them.'\  Will  you  not  do  us  the  honor 
to  join  our  party  and  partake  of  some  refresh- 
ments ? 

The  Mayor. 

\^ After    consulting    his    colleagues    by    glances."} 


MARS   DISARMED.  65 

The  honor,  I  assure  you,  General,  is  all  on  our 
side. 

[They  join  the  ladies — "partaTce  of  refresh- 
ments— pay  extravagant  compliments — make 
extraordinary  breaches  of  etiquette.  Their 
manners  and  speech  stand  out  in  hold  con- 
trast with  those  of  the  other  guests.  Some 
shepherds  and  a  shepherdess,  in  holiday  at- 
tire, and  with  rustic  instruments,  appear  at 
the  foot  of  the  terrace.  They  play,  sing,  and 
dance.      These  gone,  Madeleine   turns   to 

ViMONT.] 

Madeleine. 

I  remember,  General,  your  description  of  the 
battle  of  Austerlitz,  and  oh  I  how  interesting  it 
was.  Will  you  not  tell  us  something  of  the 
great  battle  of  Friedland? 

ViMONT. 

If  it  will  interest  you,  Mademoiselle,  I  shall  do 
so  with  pleasure. 

\_While  the  ladies  remain  seated  in  groups,  the 
men  form  a  semi-circle  around  Vimont,  and 
assume  an  expectant  attitude.  To  his  right 
is  old  M.  DE  LA  Marsignerie.  To  the 
extreme  left  of  the  semi-circle  is  Mirvoisin. 
Next  to  the  latter  is  Fresney.  Vimont  com- 
mences his  narrative  in  a  rather  languid 
tone,  hut  waxes  excited  as  he  recalls  and 
describes  the  picture,  the  action,  of  the  battle. 
He  uses  his  feet  to  indicate  the  position  of 
the  two  armies.J 


66  MARS    DISARMED. 

It  was  the  fourteenth  of  June — the  anniversary 
of  Marengo.  A  good  omen!  .  .  .  The  Tsar  seemed 
anxious  for  an  opportunity  to  redeem  the  defeat 
of  Eylau;  the  Emperor,  no  less  anxious  to  add 
another  to  the  Hst  of  his  glorious  victories. 
The  inactivity  which  the  past  season  had  im- 
posed upon  the  contending  armies  made  us  all 
eager  for  an  encounter.  The  river  Alle  runs  thus. 
{^Drawing  a  line  with  the  point  of  his  boot.^  The 
Russians  were  there.  [Pointing  with  his  foot.l 
We  here.  [Same  movement.'\  Contrary  to  expecta- 
tions, Benningsen — obviously  changing  his  plans 
— crossed  the  Alle  and  encountered  the  corps  of 
Lannes  here  [pointing  with  his  foot^  on  the  left 
bank  of  the  river.  A  fierce  engagement  followed, 
during  which  Oudinot  and  his  grenadiers  per- 
formed wonders  of  valor — never  to  be  equaled, 
never  to  be  forgotten.  Although  the  entire  Rus- 
sian forces  were  massed  against  him,  Lannes — 
tenacious  hero  that  he  is! — held  his  position 
bravely.  Attack  upon  attack  was  met,  withstood, 
repulsed.  Yet  the  fate  of  the  day  still  hung  in 
the  balance,  and  it  seemed  impossible  for  our  ex- 
hausted columns  to  stand  much  longer  the  fierce 
and  ever-recurring  onslaught  of  the  enemy,  when, 
suddenly,  midst  the  shouts  and  huzzahs  of  the 
soldiers,  the  Emperor  and  his  staff  galloped  on  to 
the  battlefield.  What  a  sight!  a  sight  which  no 
mortal  tongue  can  describe — a  sight  which  might 
have  brought  envy  to  the  god  of  war  himself! 
In  a  moment  the  scene  changed.  The  presence 
of  the  chief  gave  new  hope,  renewed  courage,  to 
all.    The   weak  grew    stronger;    the    hesitating 


3fARS   DISARMED.  67 

waxed  determined;  even  the  wounded  raised  their 
headSj  and  seemed  to  breathe  more  freely,  more 
hopefully,  as  their  eyes  followed  the  figure  on  the 
white  charger  against  the  darkening  horizon  .  .  . 
Under  orders  from  the  Emperor,  Ney  made  a 
bold,  a  wild,  dash  upon  Friedland.  The  battery 
of  Posthenau  thundered — it  sounded  like  the 
crumbling  of  the  heavens.  Brave  men  were  fall- 
ing fast  around  us — friends,  companions  of  cam- 
paigns of  old — yet  on  we  marched  where  the 
Emperor  had  bid  us  march,  protected  by  the  ar- 
tillery of  Victor  and  assisted  by  the  cavalry  of 
Latour-Marbourg,  till,  at  last,  we  came  face  to  face 
with  the  Imperial  Russian  Guard.  What  a 
charge!  What  a  resistance!  What  valor!  What 
slaughter!  The  Russians  fought  like  lions — 'twas 
the  courage  of  despair — and  for  a  moment,  terrible 
moment!  it  looked  as  though  we  should  be  com- 
pelled to  fall  back,  when  Dupont's  division,  arriv- 
ing in  the  nick  of  time,  broke  through  the  Rus- 
sian lines.  With  the  certainty  of  victory  in  our 
hearts,  and  with  shouts  of  "  Long  live  the  Em- 
peror! "  we  rushed  into  the  burning  ruins  of  Fried- 
land.  Night  was  upon  us,  and  yet  the  fight  con- 
tinued. The  wild  cries  of  the  soldiers  and  the 
moaning  of  the  wounded  mingled  with  the  tramp- 
ing of  the  horses  and  the  roar  of  the  cannon. 
The  heavens  were  illuminated  by  the  fierce  con- 
flagration of  buildings  and  bridges.  Everywhere 
could  be  seen,  resplendent  and  advancing,  the 
victorious  Imperial  Eagles  .  .  .  The  Russians 
were  in  full  retreat;  my  regiment  was  following 
in  close  pursuit,  when  suddenly  .  .  . 


68  MARS   DISARMED, 

[At  this  moment  Vimont's  eyes  fell  upon  Mir- 
voisiN,  whose  attention  had  been  called  by 
Fresney  to  the  intensity  of  expression  of  old 
M.  DE  LA  Marsignerie,  whose  interest  in 
the  narrative  had  been  worked  up  to  the 
highest  pitch.  This  caused  Mirvoisin  to 
make  an  effort  to  suppress  laughter,  and  Vi- 
MONT,  taking  this  to  refer  to  himself,  brings 
his  narrative  to  an  abrupt  ending.'\ 

Several  Voices. 
Continue,  General — continue. 

ViMONT. 

[Looking  fiercely  at  Mirvoisin.]  No!  .  .  .  [A 
pauseJ]  I  should  have  known  better  than  ever 
to  have  commenced  ...  I  should  have  known 
that  an  armless  man  could  not  describe  the  ac- 
tion of  a  battle  without  exposing  himself  to  ridi- 
cule. 

Mirvoisin. 

Pardon  me,  General;  my  laughter  was  insti- 
gated in  no  way  either  by  your  action  or  by  your 
narrative. 

ViMONT. 

Indeed!  .  .  .  We  happen  to  know  for  what 
purpose  excuses  were  made.  It  is  not  my  first  ex- 
perience. Under  my  own  roof,  however,  I 
expected  .  .  . 

The  Mayor. 

[Rushing  up  to  Vimont  and  then  to  Mirvoisin.] 


MAES    DISARMED.  69 

Permit  me  in  my  official  capacity  .  .  .  Permit 
me  to  use  my  influence  .  .  .  Permit  me  to  give 
my  views  .  .  .  Permit  me  .  .  . 

[_No  one  pays  attention  to  him.  There  is  con- 
fusion amongst  the  guests.  Some  of  them 
surround  Vimont  and  attempt  to  explain 
matters  to  him  in  undertones.  He  seems 
indisposed  to  listen.  Others  (  Alixe  amongst 
the  number)  surround  Mirvoisin  and  beg 
him  not  to  leave.  Vimont,  disregarding  all 
explanations,  casts  an  angry  glance  at  Mir- 
voisin and  moves  towards  the  chateau.  BiR- 
SON, /rom  his  corner,  seems  to  have  scored  a 
victory.'} 


END   OF   THE   SECOND   ACT. 


THE   THIRD   ACT. 

THE   CHALLENGE. 

Time:  Evening  of  Third  Day. 

Library,  as  in  first  act,  lighted.  The  antique  arm- 
chair relegated  to  a  corner.  Audr6,  the  Gen- 
eral's orderly,  is  standing  erect  near  the  door. 
A  servant — a  stupid-looking  fellow — enters 
with  a  bundle  of  mail.  He  seems  frightened 
at  the  rigid,  immovable  form  of  the  orderly. 
He  looks  inquiringly  at  the  latter  to  ascertain 
where  he  is  to  deposit  the  bundle  he  is  carrying 
cautiously  before  him. 

Servant. 

[^Standing    before   the  table.^     Here?     \_Orderly 
gives  no  answer.^     Where? 

Orderly. 

[/n  a  stentorian  voice.'\     There! 

[^Servant,  frightened,  drops  the  mail  on  the 
table,  and  looking  one  way — at  the  orderly — 
moves  the  other  way — to  the  door.  Vimont, 
in  a  loose,  long  garment,  like  a  morning 
robe,  enters.  The  orderly  salutes  him.  He 
approaches  the  table  and  sees  the  mail.^ 

70 


MARS   DISARMED.  71 

ViMONT. 

Where  is  Monsieur  de  Birson? 

Orderly. 
I  do  not  know,  General. 

ViMONT. 

[Muttering .~\  A  pity  a  good  man  like  Birson 
should  be  uncle  to  a  laughing  idiot  like  Mirvoi- 
sin  .  .  .  [He  glances  at  the  bundle  of  mail  on  the 
table — shrugs  his  shoulders — sits  down  and  gazes 
at  the  floor.  While  in  this  attitude  he  is  taken 
with  a  coughing  fit. ^  Audre,  my  tonic.  [Orderly 
goes  to  the  closet,  fills  a  glass  and  brings  it  to  the 
General,  holding  it  up  to  his  mouth.^  No,  Audre, 
that,  at  least,  is  something  I  can  do  without  my 
hands.  Place  it  on  the  table.  [Orderly  places 
the  glass  on  the  edge  of  the  table  and  resumes  his 
place  near  the  door.  Vimont,  sitting  down,  takes  a 
sip,  then  walks  silently  across  the  room;  returns 
and  takes  another  sip.  In  his  endeavor  to  empty 
the  glass,  it  falls  to  the  floor  with  a  crash.^  An- 
other disabled,  useless  thing  in  this  world! 

[Vimont  stamps  his  foot  and  leaves  the  room. 
Orderly  gets  on  his  knees  to  pick  up  the 
broken  pieces.  While  in  that  attitude,  Bir- 
son enters.l 

Birson. 

At  your  evening  devotions,  Audre? 

Orderly. 
Devotions — no!     The  General's  tonic  .  .  . 


72  MAES   DISARMED. 

BiRSON. 

The  General's  tonic!  [Aside.]  Malum  omen! 
[He  goes  to  the  table;  looks  anxiously  over  the  letters; 
takes  one  in  his  hand  and  mutters,  '*  Still  un- 
opened." He  is  reading  the  Moniteur  when  Vimont 
enters^  General,  I  hope  you  feel  rested  after  this 
quiet  day. 

ViMONT, 

As  rested,  I  presume,  as  a  man  destined  to 
eternal  restlessness  can  ever  expect  to  be  .  .  . 
[He  makes  a  sign  to  orderly  to  leave  the  room.]  Ah, 
Birson,  this  is  a  rude  awakening  from  a  life-long 
dream  1  What  a  vista  lies  before  me;  what  a 
prospect  to  contemplate:  but  one  life,  and  that 
life  blasted  I 

BiRSON. 

But,  General,  do  you  not  beUeve  .  .  . 

Vimont. 

[With  emphasis.]  I  believe  what  I  see,  what  I 
know  .  .  .  What,  to  me,  are  vaporous  imagin- 
ings of  things  above,  of  things  unseen,  unknown, 
when  confronted  with  such  realities  as  now  con- 
front me?  Oh,  Birson — I  am  weary  of  plati- 
tudes .  .  .  Some  thousand  years  ago,  I'm  told, 
there  lived  one  Beli sarins,  who,  having  long 
served  the  state  and  brought  laurels  to  his 
Emperor,  lost  both  eyes;  wherefore  I,  living 
some  ten  centuries  later,  and  having,  in  the  ser- 
vice of  my  country  and  my  Emperor,  lost  both 
arms,  have  less  cause  to  complain  than  Belisa- 


MARS    DISARMED.  78 

rius.  They  bid  me  compare,  and  go  my  way  re- 
joicing. Compare  the  living  with  the  dead  I 
What  are  eyes  to  Behsarius,  he  moldering  in  the 
grave?  I  live — I  live — armless,  useless — envy- 
ing Belisarius  his  fate.  Life  is  a  burden,  yet 
death  is  denied  me.  I  cannot  point  a  pistol  to 
my  brains;  I  cannot  bring  poison  to  my  lips; 
hang — I  cannot;  drown — some  peering  fool  would 
rescue  me,  with  a  reward  in  view.  Go  forth  and 
live;  be  merry,  they  say;  look  for  something  to 
distract,  to  amuse  you  .  .  .  Where?  .  .  .  What? 

•      •      • 

[He  falls  in  a  seat  and  gazes  vacantly  before 
him.'] 

BiRSON. 

Believe  me.  General,  you  take  an  unjustifiable 
view  of  your  condition;  and  furthermore,  I  am 
convinced  it  will  prove  ephemeral.  When  you 
are  more  rested,  you  will  feel  more  cheerful. 

ViMONT. 

[Indifferently.']     Maybe — but  I  doubt  it. 

BiRSON. 

I  had  proposed.  General,  giving  you  an  account 
of  what  transpired  during  your  absence — a  syn- 
opsis, so  to  speak,  of  your  affairs. 

ViMONT. 

[Languidly.]  Proceed,  Birson — that  as  well  as 
anything  else. 


74  MARS    DISARMED. 

BiRSON. 

\^With  a  satisfied  air.']  In  the  first  place,  I 
think  it  will  cause  you  a  lively  satisfaction  to 
hear  that  I  have  succeeded  in  finding  a  purchaser 
for  "  Noi tiers,"  which  you  were  anxious  to  dis- 
pose of.  [BiRSON  pauses.  Vimont  nods  his  head 
unconcernedly,]  I  have  invested  one  hundred 
and  sixty  thousand  francs  in  rentes.  [Birson 
pauses.  ViMONT  nods  his  head.]  Should  your 
revenue  and  expenditures  continue  at  the  same 
ratio  for  the  next  ten  or  fifteen  years,  you  will  be 
one  of  the  richest  men  in  the  department. 

ViMONT. 

[Meditatively.]  Yes,  Birson,  yes  .  .  .  but  of 
what  avail  will  it  be  to  me?  What  can  I  do 
with  great  wealth? 

Birson. 

Great  wealth  is  great  power.  Of  what  avail 
would  be  the  genius,  even  of  a  Napoleon,  unless 
he  had  the  wealth  of  France  to  back  him? 

ViMONT. 

The  Emperor  has  the  use  of  all  his  faculties — 
all  his  members — whereas  I  .  .  . 

Birson. 

You,  General,  might  lose  both  legs  as  well  as 
both  arms,  and,  for  that  matter,  both  eyes  too, 
provided   you  had   millions  at  your   command 


MARS   DISARMED,  75 

you  would  be  a  power  in  the  land.  Money — 
money  is  king!  It  is  money  which  maintains 
armies;  it  is  money  which  builds  navies;  it  is 
money  which  erects  palaces;  it  is  money  which 
gives  position;  yes,  and  it  is  money  which,  in 
many  cases,  attracts  love  .  .  . 

ViMONT. 

[Startled,  as  though  a  revelation  had  been  made 
to  him,']     Love!     Think  you  so,  Birson? 

BiRSON. 

I  am  convinced  of  it. 

ViMONT. 

Even  in  my  case? 

BiRSON. 

Ah,  General,  it  is  obvious  you  are  more  famil- 
iar with  the  tactics  of  Mars  than  with  those  of 
Venus.  Yours,  from  early  youth,  has  been  the 
tented  field,  and  not  the  field  of  gallantry. 

ViMONT. 

In  either  field  a  man  who  is  armless  is  dis- 
abled. 

Birson. 

If  riches  cover  a  multitude  of  sins,  they  should 
have  little  difficulty  covering  the  absence  of 
arms  .  .  . 


76  MARS   DISARMED. 

ViMONT. 

1  have  seen  but  one  woman  with  whom  I  should 
wish  to  spend  my  life  .  .  .  and  she,  I  fear,  would 
not  care  to  marry  me  now.  A  disarmed  soldier 
falling  into  the  arms  of  love!  .  .  .  Caressing  love, 
armless — what  a  parody  I  [He  makes  an  impa- 
tient movement,  and  then  as  though  to  change  the 
subject.']  Birson,  oblige  me  by  looking  over  these 
letters. 

BiRSON. 

[Opening  a  letter  and  reading.]  "  My  dear  Gen- 
eral, how  can  I  convey  to  you  the  expression  of 
my  deep  regret  and  sympathy  ".  .  . 

ViMONT. 

[Impatiently.]     That  will  do.     Try  another. 

BiRSON. 

[Opening  a  second  letter  and  reading.]  "  My 
dear  General,  allow  me  to  assure  you  that  it  was 
with  profound  emotion  "... 

ViMONT. 

Enough — enough!  Expressions  and  emotions 
will  never  festore  my  arms  .  .  . 

[Edmoni>  enters  and  holds  a  card  before  the 
General.] 

ViMONT. 

[Reading  the  card.]  Monsieur  Clement  .  .  . 
I  do  not  know  him. 


MARS   DISARMED.  77 

Edmond. 

He  begged  me  to  say  he  was  an  agent  of  his 
Excellency  the  Minister  of  Police,  and  wished  to 
see  the  General  privately. 

ViMONT. 

Show  him  in. 

[BiRSON  goes   out.      Edmond    ushers    in   M. 
Clement — a  mysterious-looking  man.'\ 

Clement. 
[Looking  around. '\     We  are  alone? 

ViMONT. 

Alone. 


Clement. 


x^  XJ  £j  -i^fX  Jld  Irt  X  • 

I  am   informed  you  have   under  your  roof  a 
plotter  against  the  government. 


Vimont. 
Indeed!     His  name? 

Clement. 
Monsieur  de  Birson. 

Vimont. 
And  who  is  your  informant? 


78  MARS    DISARMED, 

Clement. 

One  Armand — until  recently  employed  in  your 
household. 

ViMONT. 

I  do  not  know  for  what  reason  Armand  was 
discharged,  but  I  am  convinced  that  his  discharge 
by  Monsieur  de  Birson  is  the  cause  of  the  pres- 
ent complaint.  Monsieur  de  Birson  is  no  plotter; 
he  is  my  faithful  secretary.  His  father  and  mine 
were  friends.  It  was  the  memory  of  this  friend- 
ship which  induced  me  to  give  Monsieur  de  Bir- 
son, who  was  rendered  penniless  by  the  Revo- 
lution, a  position  in  my  household.  He  fills  this 
position  to  my  satisfaction.  Tell  you  chief  that 
I  stand  as  surety  for  Monsieur  de  Birson. 

Clement. 

Personally  I  am  satisfied  with  your  explana- 
tion, which  shall  be  duly  reported  to  headquar- 
ters.    Good  day,  General. 

ViMONT. 

Good  day.  [Clement  goes  out.  Vimont  calls 
Birson,  ivho  resumes  his  seat  at  the  table  and  looks 
over  the  letters.']      Why  was  Armand  discharged  ? 

Birson. 
For  insolence. 

Vimont. 
To  whom? 


MARS   DISARMED.  79 

BiRSON. 

To  myself. 

ViMONT. 

You  did  well  .  .  .  You  were  reading  a  letter. 

BiRSON. 

Yes.  [He  picks  up  an  open  letter^  Ah,  yes — 
from  Jamont.  [He  reads.']  "  It  seems  years  since 
the  last  campaign,  but  the  success  of  the  Emperor 
is  destined  to  awaken  the  jealousy  of  the  powers. 
They  will  combine  and  attack  him,  in  the  hope  of 
recovering  what  they  have  lost — and  will  lose 
still  more"  ... 

ViMONT. 

[Interrupting.]  Jamont  is  not  only  a  good  sol- 
dier, but  a  good  prophet  .  .  .  From  whom  is  that 
letter  near  your  hand  ? 

BiRSON. 

[Opening  envelope  and  glancing  over  letter.] 
Here,  indeed,  is  a  strange  letter.  [_Reads^  "  Wel- 
come home,  brave  soldier,  to  the  peaceful  home 
of  your  childhood,  though  peaceful  to  you  I  fear 
it  will  never  prove  hereafter.  As  a  warrior  you 
had  no  rival;  as  a  lover  you  have  a  dangerous 
one.  Beware  of  him.  He  will  burden  you  with 
professions  of  friendship;  but  the  same  melliflu- 
ous tones  which  dwell  on  amity  for  you  breathe, 
the  next  moment,  passion  for  one  you  love.  He 
had  his  doubts,  but  now  that  you  are  disarmed, 


80  MARS   DISARMED. 

he  is  confident  of  victory,  and  proclaims  you  hors 
de  combat  in  more  ways  than  one.  Have  an  eye 
on  him,  and,  before  too  late,  regain  the  ground 
you  have  lost  through  absence.     A  Friend." 

ViMONT. 

It  is  as  I  expected — as  was  inevitable. 

BiRSON. 

[Perplexed.^     What  can  this  mean  ? 

ViMONT. 

Mean  ?  [He  hesitates  a  moment.]  You  are  an 
old  friend,  Birson,  and  I  may  safely  unbosom 
myself  to  you.  This  letter  means  that  the  last 
thread  wliich  held  me  to  earth  is  snapped. 

BiRSON. 

I  do  not  understand. 

ViMONT. 

You  know  Mademoiselle  de  Marot  ? 

BiRSON. 

Yes — she  was  here  yesterday — a  marvel  of 
grace  and  beauty. 

ViMONT. 

[Muttering.']  Madeleine  .  .  .  Madeleine  .  .  . 
[Then  turning  to  Birson.]     I  knew  her,  Birson, 


MARS   DISARMED,  81 

when  she  was  a  child — a  sweet,  loving  child.  I 
watched  her  grow  and  develop  into  maidenhood. 
I  was  present  on  the  occasion — the  eventful  occa- 
sion— when,  casting  aside  her  girlish  dress,  she 
donned  woman's  attire.  Ah!  well  do  I  remem- 
ber the  night — the  night  of  her  first  ball.  How 
proud  I  was  to  lead  her  to  the  dance — a  hundred 
envious  eyes  following  me.  These  were  sweet 
memories,  Birson,  which  cheered  me  during  weary 
marches  in  the  cold  northern  climes;  which 
haunted  me  in  the  stillness  of  the  night,  when 
the  camp  was  asleep;  yes,  and  flashed  across  my 
mind,  anon  and  again,  in  the  heat  of  battle  .  .  . 
There  is  no  soldier,  Birson,  however  fierce  he  be, 
who  has  not  in  him  some  bit  of  sentiment.  That 
was  mine,  and  I  have  been  robbed  of  it. 

Birson. 

Ah!    I  begin  to  understand  ...  I  perceive  a 
clue. 

ViMONT. 

A  clue  to  what  ? 

Birson. 
To  something  I  overheard  last  night. 

ViMONT. 

And  what  was  that  ? 

Birson. 

[Hesitating^     On  reflection,  it  is  not  worth  re- 
peating— an  idle  yarn,  no  doubt. 


82  MARS   DISARMED. 

ViMONT. 

An  idle  yarn  which  may  interest  me  .  .  . 

BiRSON. 

Which  may  afflict  you. 

ViMONT. 

One  affliction  more  or  less,  after  the  many  I 
have  suffered,  signifies  little.  To  the  point, 
Birson. 

BiRSON. 

But,  General,  I  am  convinced  it  was  not  uttered 
seriously — a  yarn,  believe  me,  nothing  more. 

ViMONT. 

[With  authority.']  Let  us  admit  it  to  be  a  yarn 
and  nothing  more,  and  relate  it  to  me. 

[Interest  should  he  given  to  the  following  scene 
by  the  contrast  between  the  calm,  deliberate 
manner  of  Birson  and  the  excited,  passion- 
ate manner  of  Vimont.] 

Birson. 
But,  General  .  .  . 

ViMONT. 

Speak. 

Birson. 
Since  you  command,  I  shall  obey,  and  relate 
what  I  heard,  word  for  word. 


MARS   DISARMED.  83 

ViMONT. 

Word  for  word. 

BiRSON. 

Well — I  was  alone  in  a  room  adjoining  one 
where  several  gentlemen  were  drinking  and  con- 
versing. The  door  was  partly  open.  I  paid 
little  attention  to  what  was  said  till  I  heard 
your  name  mentioned,  and,  being  interested  in 
all  that  concerns  you,  I  listened  .  .  . 

\_He  hesitates.^ 

ViMONT. 

Proceed. 

BiRSON. 

First  promise  me,  General,  that  no  matter 
what  comes  of  this,  you  will  never  repeat  it  to 
mortal  soul — never  mention  my  name  in  con- 
nection with  it. 

ViMONT. 

On  my  word,  as  a  soldier. 

BiRSON. 

This  is  what  I  overheard:  "  Vimont  marry! 
What  can  one  conceive  more  ludicrous?  An 
innocent  bride — an  armless  man  !  Vimont,  who 
has  studied  strategy,  should  understand  this." 

Vimont. 
Were  those  his  words? 


84  MARS    DISARMED. 

BiRSON. 

His  very  words. 

ViMONT. 

And  what  else,  pray? 

BiRSON. 

"  Why — he  would  require  a  nurse — a  nurse  to 
bathe  him — a  nurse  to  dress  him — a  nurse 
to  feed  him — a  nurse  to  ...  to  do  everything 
for  him,"  and  then  laughing:  "  The  idea  of 
starting  married  life  with  a  nurse!" 

ViMONT. 

The  miserable  cur!  He  shall  pay  dearly  for 
his  insolence.  Who  is  the  man,  Birson,  who 
dared  speak  of  me  thus? 

BiRSON. 

I  beg  of  you.  General,  for  your  sake  and  mine, 
do  not  insist. 

ViMONT. 

I  must  know.     Speak! 

BiRSON. 

Alas!  I  have  already  spoken  too  much.  I 
cannot  mention  his  name. 

ViMONT. 

I  insist.  If  you  have  my  interest  at  heart, 
you  will  not  hesitate. 


MARS   DISARMED.  85 

BiRSON. 

My  interest  in  you  has,  I  fear,  betrayed  the 
interest  I  have  in  one  who  is,  or  was,  dear  to  me. 

ViMONT. 

[Looking  earnestly  at  Birson.]  Can  it  be  Mir- 
voisin?  [BiRSON  is  silent^  Is  it  Mirvoisin? 
[BiRSON  hangs  his  head.']  It  is  Mirvoisin!  .  .  . 
Oh  I  how  clear  it  all  appears  to  me  now.  That 
prearranged  meeting  on  the  terrace — those  whis- 
perings in  the  corner — those  exchanges  of  mys- 
terious glances — and  finally  the  open  insult; 
mocking  me  in  my  own  house!  .  .  .  and  this  let- 
ter. [Looking  at  the  open  letter.]  He  shall  make 
aniends  for  this.  I  will  .  .  .  [He  stops  suddenly, 
hesitates,  and  then  with  a  painful  expression  on  his 
face,  and  a  sadness  in  his  voice.]  But,  Birson, 
what  can  I  do?  What  shall  I  do?  ...  I  can- 
not strike  him  ...  I  cannot  challenge  him 
.  .  .  Oh,  what  a  helpless  wretch  I  am!  What 
right  have  I  to  live,  if  I  must  live  and  be 
mocked  with  impunity;  if  I  need  must  face  an 
insolent  cur,  and  yet  not  be  able  to  strike  him  ? 
[Appealingly .]  Surely,  Birson,  some  means  can 
be  devised — some  means  must  be  devised — to 
chastise  such  as  he. 

Birson. 

It  is  an  unfortunate,  a  provoking,  a  perplexing 
case  .  .  . 

ViMONT. 

Here  I  stand,  grievously  offended,  and  yet  un- 


86  MARS   DISARMED. 

able  to  secure  amends,  to  inflict  punishment.  I 
am  denied  even  that  satisfaction  which  is  ac- 
corded a  woman — a  duel  by  proxy.  Who,  on 
this  broad  earth,  would  offer  to  fight  for  me — to 
defend  my  honor — to  avenge  this  insult?  On 
whom  have  I  sufficient  claim  to  ask  that  he  risk 
his  life  in  my  behalf? 

BiRSON. 

[Meditatively.  His  chin  resting  on  his  hand."] 
Perplexing  .  .  .  perplexing  .  .  .  You  have  no 
friend  you  could  appeal  to  ? 

ViMONT. 

My  friends  are  far  away — in  the  army;  those 
here  are  also  friends  of  his — more  so,  perhaps, 
than  mine. 

BiRSON. 

[Still  meditatively.^  Let  me  see  .  .  .  Let  me 
see  .  .  .  Ah  I  I  have  an  idea — while  fighting  by 
proxy  may  be  out  of  the  question  in  your  case, 
shaking  dice  by  proxy  is  not  necessarily  so. 

ViMONT. 

[Eagerly.']     And  the  loser  blows  out  his  brains ! 

BiRSON. 

Precisely — provided  the  loser  be  not  yourself. 

ViMONT. 

In  which  eventuality  poison  will  do  the  work. 


MARS    DISARMED.  87 

Birson,  this  must  be  settled  without  delay.  Send 
at  once  to  Maupert  and  Beaumont  and  tell  them 
I  wish  to  see  them — the  sooner,  the  better. 

BiRSON. 

Reflect,  General.  Supposing  the  dice  should 
turn  against  you? 

ViMONT. 

That  is  not  the  point.  I  am  determined — go. 
[BiRSON  withdraws,  and  returns  instantly.^  What 
is  it? 

BiRSON. 

The  seconds  will  wish  to  know  the  cause  of 
the  challenge. 

ViMONT. 

Well — is  not  the  cause  sufficient? 

BiRSON. 

Amply  so — but  how  can  you  name  the  cause 
without  naming  me? 

ViMONT. 

Why  not  name  you? 

BiRSON. 

You  gave  me  your  word,  General — your  word 
as  a  soldier. 

ViMONT. 

True — I  did.  A  soldier  must  keep  his  word; 
I  shall  keep  mine.     But,  Birson,  a  cause  for  the 


88  MARS   DISARMED. 

challenge — a    cause     must     be     found  .  .  .  the 
letter? 

BiRSON. 

The  letter  bears  no  name;  it  mentions  no  name. 

ViMONT. 

And  his  insult  on  the  terrace,  when  he  laughed 
in  my  face? 

BiRSON. 

That  might  be  deemed  insufficient  cause. 

ViMONT. 

But  what  if  /  deem  it  sufficient  cause? 

BiRSON. 

The  seconds  might  disagree  on  that  point. 

ViMONT. 

I  shall  give  them  no  opportunity  to  disagree. 
They  may  think  what  they  wish  of  his  action — 
so  may  I — and  I  propose  to  resent  it.  I  shall 
crowd  him,  trip  him,  heap  insult  upon  him,  and 
thus  compel  him  to  challenge  me. 

BiRSON. 

Ah — there  indeed  you  would  have  him  cor- 
nered. 

ViMONT. 

Yes,  cornered,  and  no  escape.     Go,  Birson,  let 


MARS   DISARMED.  89 

no  time  be  lost.     Send  word  to  Beaumont  and 
Maupert,  while  I  seek  Mirvoisin. 

[BiRSON  goes  out  by  one  door.  Vimont  is 
about  to  leave  by  another,  when  he  meets 
Alixe  entering.'] 

ViMONT. 

[Astonished.]     Alixe! 

Alixe. 

[Joyously.]  Eugene,  I  am  here  to  tell  you  of  a 
delightful  plan  I  have  formed  for  to-morrow. 
Lestrange  has  been  in  the  tower  and  consulted 
the  heavens.  He  has  scanned  the  horizon;  he 
has  studied  the  four  points  of  the  compass,  and 
he  predicts  for  to-morrow  a  sun  of  Austerlitz. 
We  are  to  drive  to  the  old  castle  near  Moisart; 
we  shall  lunch  under  the  trees,  and  linger  there 
till  twilight. 

ViMONT. 

I  trust  Lestrange  has  made  no  blunder. 

Alixe. 

He  is  not  infallible,  and  yet  he  seldom  errs 
.  .  .  You  will  accompany  us,  will  you  not,  Eu- 
gene? 

ViMONT. 

[After  a  moments  hesitation.]  No,  Alixe;  go 
without  me — amuse  yourselves. 


90  MARS   DISARMED. 


Alixe. 


[With  a  disappointed  air.'\  But  we  will  not  go 
without  you.  The  party  is  already  made  up. 
The  Marsigneries  are  going — the  Marcourts — 
Eugenie  de  Vitoy — and  [eyeing  him  without  his 
perceiving  if]  Madeleine  de  Marot — and  [with 
hesitancy]  Monsieur  de  Mirvoisin  .  .  .  [At  the 
mention  of  the  two  last  names  together  Vimont  he- 
trays  intense  emotion.]     What  is  it,  Eugene? 

ViMONT. 

Nothing — only  I  shall  not  be  of  the  party. 

Alixe. 

[Anxiously.]  There  is  something  the  matter 
with  you  .  .  .  [He  is  silent.]  Tell  me — what  is 
it?     [He  continues  silent.]     I  must  know  .  .  . 

ViMONT. 

You  will  know  to-morrow. 

Alixe. 

[Seizing  the  lapel  of  his  coat.]     No — now,  now! 

ViMONT. 

If  you  must  know,  then  listen:  Monsieur  de 
Mirvoisin  shall  be  called  to  account  for  his  .  .  . 
insulting  manner. 

Alixe. 

What — yesterday  on  the  terrace?      Why,  he 


MARS   DISARMED.  91 

himself  told  me  that  he  laughed  at  Monsieur  de 
la  Marsignerie,  who  was  so  excited  at  your  de- 
scription of  Friedland,  that  he  thought  his  eyes 
would  drop  from  his  head. 

ViMONT. 

It  is  all  very  well  for  him  to  say  that  now, 
but  I  happen  to  know  that  his  feelings  towards 
me  are  far  from  being  friendly. 

Alixe. 

\_With  emphasis.l  I  cannot  believe  he  harbors 
aught  against  you. 

ViMONT. 

\_With  greater  emphasis.^  You  cannot — but  I 
can. 

Alixe. 

Well,  supposing  he  does,  what  will  you  do? 

ViMONT. 

Challenge  him. 

Alixe. 

[Amazed.']  Challenge  him  I  But  how  will  you 
fight? 

ViMONT. 

The  dice  will  decide  our  fate. 

Alixe. 

[Collapsing.]  And  mine!  [She  checks  herself 
— pauses — approaches  Vimont.]  Eugene,  do  you 
know  that  Monsieur  de  Mirvoisin  .  .  . 


92  MARS   DISARMED. 

ViMONT. 

[Interrupting. 1  I  know  that  Monsieur  de  Mir- 
voisin  is  an  insolent  cur,  and  he  or  I  shall  pay  .  .  . 
[Alixe,  as  though  stunned,  brings  her  hands  to  her 
temples,  reels,  and  falls  in  a  chair.  Vimont  kneels 
at  her  side^  calls  her  by  name,  kisses  her  hand.  She 
makes  a  vain  movement  to  loosen  her  robe  at  the 
neck,  and  gasps,  "Air,  air."  Vimont  rushes  to  the 
window,  and  on  realizing  that  he  cannot  open  it, 
assumes  a  despairing  attitude.  Then  he  leans 
against  the  window  with  all  his  weight,  and  this 
proving  futile,  he  batters  it  with  his  shoulder  till  it 
falls  with  a  crash.  Several  of  the  servants,  hearing 
the  crashing  of  the  window,  appear  at  the  various 
doorways.  Vimont  turns  fiercely  towards  them.^ 
What  are  you  doing  here?  Who  called  you? 
Who  needs  you?  I  am  not  quite  as  weak  as  a 
crawling  infant,  or  as  helpless  as  a  palsied  octo- 
generian.  When  I  require  your  assistance  I 
shall  cause  you  to  be  notified.  [Servants  go  out. 
Alixe  recovers  slowly.  Vimont  stands  at  her  side, 
looking  at  her  anxiously.  Then  he  speaks  in  a  low, 
affectionate  voice.^  I  am  sorry  I  caused  you  pain 
...  I  did  not  mean  to  .  .  .  Forgive  me,  Alixe 
.  .  .  You  know  my  affection  for  you  .  .  .  Come, 
be  yourself  again  .  .  .  Embrace  me  with  those 
fond  arms  of  yours  ... 

[She  rises  and  embraces  him.^ 


Alixe. 
Promise  me,  Eugene  .  .  . 


[Edmond  enters.'] 


MARS    DISARMED.  93 

Edmond. 

General,  a  messenger  from  Paris  wishes  to  see 
you  alone. 

[ViMONT  goes  out,  followed  by  Edmond.  Alixe 
alone,  seated  in  a  chair;  her  hands  clasped; 
her  eyes  fixed  steadily  before  her.^ 

Alixe. 

My  joy  was  too  great  ...  It  could  not  last 
.  .  .  [Her  face  lights  up.]  If  I  were  to  tell  him? 
.  .  .  [Despairingly.']  He  would  remind  me  of 
my  promise;  he  would  accuse  me  of  loving  his 
enemy.  [Birson  enters.  Alixe  rises  and  goes  forth 
to  meet  him.]  Monsieur  de  Birson,  lend  me  your 
hand,  for  mine  is  chained,  powerless;  lend  me 
your  mind,  for  mine  is  clouded,  confused. 

BiRSON. 

My  hand,  my  mind,  are  yours.  Mademoiselle, 
.  .  .  [he  approaches  her  and  half  whispers]  like- 
wise my  heart. 

Alixe. 

[Drawing  back  with  suppressed  emotion.]  I  ap- 
pealed to  you,  as  a  friend,  for  assistance,  and 
you  compel  me  to  withdraw  my  appeal. 

BiRSON. 

[Kneeling.]     On  bended  knee,  I  beg  you  .  .  . 

Alixe. 
[In  despair.]     Spare  me! 


94  MARS   DISARMED. 

BiRSON. 

\_Rising.'\  Pardon  me,  Mademoiselle,  for  as- 
suming to  .  .  .  [Alixe  rushes  from  the  room.  He 
bows  to  the  door,  which  closes  in  his  face.^  The 
fair  Amarinta  and  the  faithful  Luigi  are  not  on 
encouraging  terms  .  .  .  Ugh!  Failure  to-day 
may  mean  success  to-morrow.  {^He  meditates.'\ 
She  would  have  me  stop  this  duel  .  .  .  [Pause.^ 
Stop  this  duel — why?  It  might  serve  her  pur- 
pose, not  mine  .  .  .  [Pause.^  Stop  the  duel — 
why?  Whoever  loses,  I  win.  If  Mirvoisin,  he 
will  be  well  out  of  the  way;  if  Vimont,  would  she 
dare  marry  Mirvoisin,  who  caused  her  brother's 
death?     [Triumphantly.']     Let  the  duel  proceed  I 

[ViMONT  enters.] 

ViMONT. 

I  am  called  to  Paris,  but  I  shall  not  leave  till 
I  have  settled  matters  with  Mirvoisin. 

BiRSON. 

[Affecting  despondency.]  General,  I  wish  I  had 
not  spoken. 

ViMONT. 

Speaking  as  you  did  was  rendering  me  a  ser- 
vice; and  while  I  think  of  it,  Birson — who  knows 
what  may  happen? — I  wish  to  make  an  altera- 
tion in  my  will  .  .  .  You  will  find  in  the  left 
upper  drawer  of  my  desk  a  bunch  of  keys.  Bring 
them  here.  [Birson  goes  out.  He  returns  with 
the  keys.]     Remove  that  cabinet.     [Indicating  a 


MARS    DISARMED,  95 

piece  of  furniture  against  the  wall,  which  Birson 
moves  with  difficulty,  Vimont  assisting  with  his 
shoulder.]  Take  the  large  key  and  open  that 
door.  \_A  door  concealed  behind  the  cabinet.^  Take 
out  the  strong  box  to  the  right  .  .  .  Open  it. 
The  key?  Let  me  see  .  .  .  [Birson  holds  up  each 
key  in  turn.]  That  one  .  .  .  [Birson  opens  box.'] 
You  will  find  a  sealed  envelope  marked  "Last 
Testament." 

[Birson,  on  his  knees,  looks  carefully  over  the 
papers  and  objects  in  the  strong  box. 
While  doing  this  he  lays  hand  on  a  mini- 
ature of  Madeleine.  Still  kneeling  before 
the  box,  he  holds  the  miniature  up  to  the  light 
and  contemplates  it  earnestly.  Vimont,  em- 
barrassed, watches  him  from  the  rear.] 

Birson. 

[With  uncertainty.]  This  looks  like  Mademoi- 
selle .  .  .  de  Marot. 

Vimont. 

[With  emotion.]     It  is  Mademoiselle  de  Marot. 

Birson. 
[Deliberately.]     Shall  I  replace  it  in  the  box? 

Vimont. 

No — give  it  to  me.  [Birson,  absent-minded, 
and  looking  in  the  box,  stretches  his  hand,  which 
holds  the  miniature,  towards  Vimont.     The  latter 


96  MARS   DISARMED. 

looks  distressed  as  he  realizes  he  cannot  take  if.] 
Birpon,  place  it  on  the  mantel.  [Birson  rises 
and  moves  slowly  towards  the  mantel,  where  he 
places  the  miniature,  Vimont  following  him  with 
his  eyes.  Birson  returns  to  the  box,  he/ore  which 
he  kneels,  and  continues  the  search  of  the  will.  He 
examines  a  number  of  papers,  and  finally  holds  up 
a  large  envelope  to  Vimont.]  Yes — that  is  it.  I'll 
dictate  my  wishes,  which  you  will  convey  to 
Monsieur  Corvin,  my  notary,  and  ask  him  to  in- 
corporate them  in  my  will,  in  due  legal  form. 
[Birson  sits  at  the  table,  prepared  to  write.  Vi- 
mont walks  the  floor  nervously  and  then  stops  to 
dictate.^  I  bequeath  to  Jean  Gabriel  Antoine — 
son  of  my  father's  old  friend,  the  Count  de  Bir- 
son— as  a  token  of  my  appreciation  of  his  con- 
stant and  faithful  services,  my  signet  ring  and 
the  sum  of  ...  [a  pause"]  one  hundred  thousand 
francs  ... 

Birson. 
But,  General  .  .  . 


'> 


Vimont. 

We  shall  not  discuss  the  question  now.  Go, 
Birson — see  that  those  matters  which  press  are 
attended  to.  [Birson,  with  a  resigned  air,  with- 
draws. Vimont,  alone,  stands  for  a  moment,  gaz- 
ing at  the  floor.  Then  he  raises  his  eyes  and  fixes 
them  on  the  miniature  of  Madeleine.  He  ap- 
proaches nearer  and  nearer  to  the  mantel,  till  he 
stands  close  to  the  miniature,  on  which  his  eyes  re- 
main riveted.     He  speaks  tenderly  at  first.]     Yes 


3fARS   DISARMED.  97 

— you  are  beautiful  .  .  .  but  beauty,  like  all  else 
in  life,  will  fade  .  .  .  youth  and  grace  will  dis- 
appear ,  .  .  Your  body,  which  I  once  deemed 
sweet,  will  be  cold  and  lifeless  ...  a  feast  for 
worms  .  .  .  [ffis  voiee  vibrates  with  passion.^ 
That  will  be  .  .  .  that  must  be  .  .  .  but  now — 
now!  it  is  arms  you  crave  for  .  .  .  arms  to  em- 
brace you  .  .  .  arms  to  encircle  your  waist  .  .  . 
arms  .  .  .  arms  .  .  .  You  shall  have  them  .  .  . 
[ivith  emphasis^  perhaps  .  .  .  [^With  bitterness.l 
But  they  will  weary  of  you,  these  arms — it  is  so 
written — and  seek  elsewhere.  Your  dream  of 
happiness  will  vanish  ...  as  did  my  dream  of 
happiness  .  .  .  You  will,  as  I  do,  know  loneli- 
ness. Then — yes,  then — you  will  think  of  the 
days  of  old,  which  now  you  have  forgotten — but 
too  late — too  late!  Go  from  my  thoughts,  my 
life;  go  to  that  other's  arms  .  .  .  arms  .  .  . 
arms  ... 

[^He  makes  an  impulsive  movement  with  his 
head  to  dash  the  miniature  from  the  mantel. 
He  fails.  He  makes  a  second  attempt.  He 
fails  again.  He  looks  around  the  room,  as 
though  seeking  assistance.  He  tries  once 
more,  and  the  miniature  falls  to  the  floor. 
He  is  in  the  act  of  raising  his  foot  to  crush  it, 
when  the  door  opens  and  Edmond  enters.'\ 

Edmond. 

The  Marquis  de  Mirvoisin  wishes   to  see  the 
General. 


98  MARS   DISARMED. 

ViMONT. 

[Astonished.']  The  Marquis  de  Mirvoisin! 
[Pause.'}     I'll  see  the  Marquis. 

[Edmond  goes  out.  Vimont  faces  the  door,  at 
a  distance.  A  moment  later  the  door  is 
opened  by  Edmond,  ivho  withdraws  immedi- 
ately. Mirvoisin  enters  briskly  and  ad- 
vances towards  Vimont,  with  a  smile  on  his 
lips,  but,  on  perceiving  the  menacing  attitude 
of  Vimont,  he  stops  short,  and  for  a  few 
seconds  the  two  men,  erect,  with  heads  thrown 
back,  gaze  at  each  other  silently.  Determi- 
nation is  on  the  face  of  Vimont;  uncertainty 
on  that  of  Mirvoisin.] 

Mirvoisin. 

General,  I  have  come  ...  [a  pause]  I  intended 
coming  ...  to  see  you,  to  explain  the  little  in- 
cident of  the  terrace. 

Vimont. 

Indeed  1  Well,  I  beg  to  assure  you,  sir,  that 
you  will  have  difficulty — great  difficulty — ex- 
plaining what  you  are  pleased  to  call  the  little 
incident  of  the  terrace. 

Mirvoisin. 

[Assuming  the  haughty  demeanor  of  Vimont.] 
Your  manner  takes  me  by  surprise.  General.  I 
fail  to  understand  what  you  mean. 


MARS   DISARMED.  99 

ViMONT. 

[Moving  towards  Mirvoisin.]  I'll  tell  you 
what  I  mean — you  are  a  miserable  cur — and  not 
having  a  hand  with  which  to  slap  your  face,  take 
that —  [He  spits  in  his  face.  Mirvoisin,  with 
clenched  fist,  makes  a  movement  to  strike  Vimont — 
hut  stops  suddenly,  making  a  visible  effort  to  con- 
trol himself.  A  moment  of  silence,  during  which  the 
two  men  stare  angrily  at  each  other.^ 

Mirvoisin. 

I  do  not  wish  to  be  misunderstood.  You  have 
insulted  me  mortally.  If  I  do  not  resent  it,  it  is 
that  I  feel  I  have  undue  advantage  over  you. 

ViMONT. 

[With  disdain.]     Subterfuge! 

Mirvoisin. 

Subterfuge — no!  My  honor  forbids  my  resent- 
ing the  insult  of  an  armless  man,  as  it  would  for- 
bid my  resenting  that  of  a  woman. 

ViMONT. 

Oh,  this  is  not  the  first  time  you  have  harped 
on  my  misfortune;  but,  let  me  inform  you,  sir — 
to  relieve  your  delicate  sense  of  honor,  or  any 
superfluous  scrupulousness  on  your  part — that 
though  I  am  armless,  and  more  defenseless  than 
a  woman,  there  is,  unless  you  be  an  arrant 
coward,  a  means  whereby  you  may  obtain  satis- 
faction for  the  insult  I  have  offered  you. 


100  MARS   DISARMED. 

MiRVOISIN. 

I  shall  welcome  any  means  that  may  be  sug- 
gested to  avenge  my  honor,  even  though  the 
suggestion  come  from  him  who  has  wronged  me. 

ViMONT. 

Since,  as  you  observed,  you  have  undue  advan- 
tage over  me;  since  I  cannot  fight,  nor  induce 
anyone  to  fight  for  me — let  dice  decide  our  fate. 
Here,  at  least,  I  can  secure  a  proxy;  here  we 
meet  on  equal  ground. 

MiRVOISIN. 

So  be  it. 

ViMONT. 

Should  you  lose,  you  blow  out  your  miserable 
brains;  should  I  .  .  .  poison  will  end  my  life. 

MiRVOISIN. 

So  be  it. 

ViMONT. 

This  evening  our  seconds  meet;  to-morrow  you 
and  I  meet. 

MiRVOISIN. 

So  be  it  .  .  .  Till  then.  General.  [He  bows 
low  and  withdraws.^ 


END   OF   THE   THIRD   ACT. 


THE     FOURTH     ACT. 

THE    DUEL. 

Time:  Morning  of  Fourth  Day. 

Large   room  in  Mirvoisin's   chateau.      Ancestral 
pictures,    armor,    tapestries,    etc.     MmvoisiN 
*   and  Sellier  enter. 

MiRVOISIN. 

This  is  the  chamber — the  chamber  where,  in 
years  gone  by,  many  similar  affairs,  but  none  so 
sad,  have  been  discussed,  arranged.  But  why, 
Sellier,  was  it  decided  that  it  should  be  held 
under  my  roof,  not  his? 

Sellier. 

Because  under  his  own  roof  Vimont  fears  in- 
terruption, if  not  more  serious  interference  in  the 
matter. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Ah,  Sellier,  how  uncertain  are  human  affairs 
— how  ephemeral  our  prospects  of  happiness! 
Yesterday  I  still  indulged  the  dream  that  Alixe 
might  be  my  bride,  and  Vimont  my  brother; 
to-day  my  dream  has  vanished — Vimont  and  I 
meet,  not  as  brothers,  but  as  enemies. 

101 


102  MARS    DISARMED. 

Sellier. 

Yes,  His  sad,  Mirvoisin — and  the  sadder  that  I 
am  convinced  there  is  a  misunderstanding. 

Mirvoisin. 

A  misunderstanding  beyond  peradventure — 
but  one  which  he  will  not  admit  of — will  not 
even  discuss. 

Sellier. 

He  is  bent  on  carrying  out  the  programme, 
and  dismisses  all  explanations  as  an  effort  to 
trick  him  into  surrendering  his  position. 

Mirvoisin. 

And  I — so  long  as  he  refuses  an  apology — am 
compelled  to  maintain  my  position. 

Sellier. 

Yes — there  is  no  escape.  He  has  created  an 
impasse.  He  threatens — should  you  refuse  to 
resent  this  insult — to  repeat  it,  and  repeat  it,  till 
you  do. 

Mirvoisin. 

Is  there — in  this  broad  world — anything  more 
difficult  to  deal  with  than  sensitiveness  such  as 
his?  Put  me  face  to  face  with  a  tiger,  and  I 
should  know  what  to  do;  with  a  madman;  but 
with  one  of  your  .  .  . 


MARS   DISARMED.  103 

Sellier. 

Never  mind,  Mirvoisin — calm  yourself.  Let 
us  hope  victory  will  be  on  your  side. 

Mirvoisin. 

An  unwelcome  victory  that  which  will  make 
her,  whom  I  love  most,  unhappy — nay,  will 
cause  us  to  remain  strangers  forever. 

\^A  servant  enters.^ 

Servant. 

There  is  a  lady  who  insists  on  seeing  Monsieur 
le  Marquis. 

Mirvoisin. 

Her  name? 

Servant. 
She  refuses  to  give  it,  Monsieur  le  Marquis. 

Mirvoisin. 

Let  the  lady  enter.  [Servant  goes  out.'\  Who 
can  my  mysterious  visitor  be?  Sellier,  will  you 
see  that  my  pistols  are  in  good  order?  [Sellier 
withdraws.  Alixe,  with  cloak  and  hat  to  disguise 
her,  enters.  Mirvoisin  hows,  with  an  air  of  uncer- 
tainty.^ Whom  have  I  the  honor  of  saluting? 
[Alixe  slowly  casts  aside  her  disguise.^  Alixe  I 
you  here? 

Alixe. 

Yes,  driven  hither  by  despair — by  hope.  Oh, 
Roger,  this  meeting  must  be  stopped. 


104  MARS    DISARMED. 

MiRVOISIN. 

[Taking  her  hands.^  You  know,  Alixe,  that  it 
pains  me  no  less  than  it  does  you.  Have  you 
seen  him  ? 

Alixe. 

I  have  begged  and  implored  on  bended  knee; 
he  caresses,  but  will  not  answer  me,  and  you — 
have  you  done  nothing  ? 

MiRVOISIN. 

All  that  lay  in  my  power.  I  have  done,  in  his 
case,  what  I  should  have  done  in  the  case  of  no 
other  man.  I  have  offered  to  apologize  for  the 
imaginary  offense  of  which  I  am  accused,  pro- 
vided he  apologize  for  the  actual  insult  he  prof- 
fered me. 

Alixe. 

And  his  answer  was  ? 

MiRVOISIN. 

That  he  would  neither  accept  nor  offer  an 
apology. 

Alixe. 

And  you  will  meet  him  ? 

MiRVOISIN. 

[Despairingly.']     What  else  can  I  do  ? 

Alixe. 
Refuse  to  see  him. 


MARS   DISARMED.  105 

MiRVOISIN. 

He  threatens,  in  that  event,  to  heap  insult 
upon  insult  till  I  be  compelled  to  resent  them. 

Alixe. 
Flee,  then. 

MmvoisiN, 

And  leave  behind  that  without  which  I  could 
not  live — my  love  and  my  honor. 

Alixe. 
Conceal  yourself;  assume  indisposition. 

MiRVOISIN. 

To  what  purpose  ? 

Alixe. 
The  encounter  would  be  avoided. 

MiRVOISIN. 

It  would  be  but  postponed. 

Alixe. 
I  shall  tell  him  we  are  betrothed. 

MiRVOISIN. 

It  would  aggravate  his  animosity,  since  you 
would  thereby  confess  you  had  broken  your  pledge 
to  him. 


106  MARS   DISARMED. 

Alixe. 

What,  then,  am  I  to  do?  I  appeal  to  you  in 
vain;  I  appeal  to  him  in  vain.  Oh,  heavens  I 
was  woman  ever  placed  in  such  a  plight — to 
have  her  heart  torn  in  twain  by  her  brother  and 
her  lover  ? 

MiRVOISIN. 

[^Takes  her  hand.  After  a  pause. ^  If  you  will 
make  a  sacrifice,  AHxe,  I  shall. 

Alixe. 
What  do  you  mean  ? 

MmvoisiN. 

I  shall  consider  Vimont  as  having  won,  and 
pay  the  penalty  of  defeat. 

Alixe. 
[^Clinging  to  him.^     Never  1 

MiRVOISIN. 

But  should  Vimont  lose  ? 

Alixe. 
He  must  not  lose. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Yet  one  of  us  .  .  . 


MARS    DISARMED.  107 

Alixe. 

No — neither  of  you  .  .  .  \^Distractedly.^  Where 
do  you  meet  ? 

MiRVOISIN. 

[Embarrassed. 1  Where  do  we  raeet?  Wher- 
ever Vimont  decides. 

Alixe. 
And  that  is  ? 

MiRVOISIN. 

You  know  how  erratic  he  is.  He  has  decided 
that  the  meeting  shall  take  place;  it  is  for  him 
to  decide  where. 

Alixe. 
When  is  it  to  be  ? 

MiRVOISIN. 

[Perplexed.']  When?  [Pause.]  Ah,  Alixe,  ask 
me  not  what  I  cannot  tell  you. 

Alixe. 

[Looking  at  him  appealingly  and,  for  a  moment, 
silently.]     Then  you  will  do  nothing  for  me  ? 

MiRVOISIN. 

I'll  give  my  life  for  you. 


108  MARS    DISARMED. 

Alixe. 
It  would  be  taking  mine. 

MiRVOISIN. 

I'll  give  ... 

Alixe. 

You  will  give  everything  except  that  which  I 
ask. 

MiRVOISIN. 

IReproachfullyJ]     Alixe  I 

Alixe. 

Instead  of  a  wedding,  it  will  be  a  funeral;  in- 
stead of  the  bridal  veil,  I  shall  wear  the  veil  of 
crape. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Alixe  1 

Alixe. 

Let  the  dice  perform  their  mournful  task! 
Avenge  your  injured  honor!  Invoke  chance — as 
surely  as  it  will  spare  one  of  you,  so  surely  will 
it  strike  me  .  .  . 

[Alixe  makes  a  rapid  movement  towards  the 
door,  hut  is  intercepted  by  Mirvoisin.] 

MiRVOISIN. 

Do  not,  I  implore  you,  leave  me  thus. 


MARS   DISARMED.  109 

Alixe. 
It  is  you  who  will  it. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Far  from  it!  It  is  a  fate  I  v/ould  crush  that 
wills  it  .  .  .  But  since  we  must  part,  Alixe,  at 
least  let  us  part  as  friends  .  .  .  Oh,  how  I  re- 
member the  endless  days  spent  in  sadness — sad- 
ness which  sprung  from  doubt  of  your  sentiments 
towards  me.  How  I  remember,  Alixe,  those 
short,  happy  hours — happy  because  doubt  had 
vanished,  and  our  hearts  knew  each  other's 
secret.  How  I  remember,  Alixe,  that  supreme 
moment  when,  for  the  first  time  .  .  . 

[He  presses  her  in  his  arms.^ 

Alixe. 

And  I,  too,  remember — and  my  remembrance 
is  sweeter  than  yours,  since  I  would  have  those 
happy  hours  continue — whereas  you  .  .  . 

MiRVOISIN. 

Alas!  their  memory  embitters  the  prospect  of 
losing  them. 

Alixe. 

Listen,  Roger;  my  love  for  Eugene  is  more  in- 
tense than  your  hate  of  him.  If  I  sacrifice  the 
greater,  you  might  sacrifice  the  lesser.  I  should 
rather  incur  his  eternal  resentment  than  follow 
his  dear  body  to  the  grave;  I  should  rather  .  .  . 

\_She  checks  herself  and  lowers  her  eyes-l 


110  MARS    DISARMED. 

MiRVOISIN. 

What  is  it,  Alixe  ? 

Alixe. 

[Hesitating.']  You  force  me  to  utter  pleadings 
that  should  come  from  your  lips. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Coming  from  yours,  they  will  prove  more  irre- 
sistible. 

Alixe. 

[Betraying  deep  emotion.']  Will  you  leave  this 
place  if  I  leave  it  with  you?  [She  seizes  his 
hand.]  Let  us  fly,  Roger — let  us  fly  to  a  land 
far  away — from  strife  and  from  anger,  to  peace 
and  to  love  .  .  .  [She  pauses.]  You  are  silent 
.  .  .  you  hesitate  .  .  . 

[She  draws  herself  hack,  assumes  an  injured 
look,  then,  with  majestic  dignity,  moves  to 
the  door.  He  follows  her,  calling,  "Alixe, 
Alixe" — hut  her  manner  forbids  further  in- 
terference. She  glides  silently  out  of  the 
room.  Sellier  enters,  carrying  the  box  of 
dueling  pistols.  He  places  it  on  the  table. 
MiRVOISIN  opens  the  box,  and  with  a  calm — 
half-mocking,  half-serious — look,  takes  one 
of  the  pistols  in  his  hand,  examines  it,  and 
tests  the  trigger.] 

Sellier. 
I  have  fulfilled  the  duty  imposed  on  me.     May 


MARS   DISARMED.  Ill 

these  [pointing  to  the  pistols]  not  be  called  upon 
to  perform  theirs. 

MiRVOISIN. 

I  ask  myself  whether,  after  all,  Sellier,  it  is  not 
as  well  to  go  this  way  as  any  other — now  as  well 
as  later.  The  time  must  come,  and  in  a  hundred 
years  .  .  . 

Sellier. 
To-morrow  you  will  not  speak  thus. 

MiRVOISIN. 

[With  a  hitter  smile.']     Perhaps  not. 

[A  servant  enters.] 

Servant. 

The  Abbot  of  Narmontier. 

[MiRVOISIN  makes  an  impatient  movement. 
Sellier  withdraws  to  one  side  and  stands 
leaning  against  the  hack  of  a  chair.  The 
Abbot — a  venerable  man — enters^ 

Abbot. 

Benedicite — In  nomine  Patri,  et  Filii,  et  Spiritu 
Sancto. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Welcome,  reverend  father.  To  what  good 
grace  am  I  indebted  for  this  unexpected  visit  ? 


112  MARS   DISARMED. 

Abbot. 

It  is  the  mission  of  the  holy  Church  to  main- 
tain peace  amongst  men. 

MiRVOISIN. 

The  holy  Church  has  a  difficult  mission  at  this 
moment,  with  Napoleon  in  the  field. 

Abbot. 

The  ways  of  Providence  are  manifold.  Napo- 
leon serves  as  a  means,  and  still  more  will  he 
serve  as  a  moral.  Who  breaks  the  peace  shall, 
in  his  time,  suffer  defeat. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Meanwhile  victory  follows  the  martial  eagles 

•      •      • 

Abbot. 

Hush  I  History  is  of  all  time,  and  we  see  but 
the  present  .  .  .  My  son,  it  was  not  of  Napoleon 
— may  Heaven  have  mercy  on  his  soul — but  of 
yourself  that  I  came  to  speak. 

MiRVOISIN. 

My  services  have  not  yet  been  called  into 
requisition — I  am  still  a  man  of  peace. 

Abbot. 

{^Approaching  him  with  a  mysterious  air.]  You 
indulge,  this  day,  in  an  unholy  contest  .  .  . 


MARS   BIS  ARMED.  113 

MiKVOISIN. 


Father 


Abbot. 

I  know  all  ...  I  come,  in  the  name  of  the 
great  Father  above,  and  in  the  name  of  your 
honored  sire,  whose  confidence  and  friendship  in 
God  I  enjoyed  to  his  last  breath,  to  enjoin  you 
from  carrying  out  your  nefarious  purpose. 

MiRVOISIN. 

[Perplexed^  How  came  you,  holy  father,  who 
live  within  cloistered  walls,  to  learn  of  unholy 
worldly  doings? 

Abbot. 

The  Lord  is  almighty,  and  where  his  own  glory 
and  man's  welfare  are  concerned,  he  spares  not 
his  might. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Well,  father,  your  time,  I  know,  is  precious; 
and  mine,  I  fear,  is  short.  \^He  looks  at  the  clock.] 
I  shall  be  brief  and  frank.  Your  informant, 
whether  voice  of  earth  or  spirit  of  heaven,  is  well 
informed.  I  am  about  to  engage  in  an  unholy 
and,  I  do  sincerely  believe,  a  most  unjustifiable 
contest;  you  are  not  more  anxious  than  I,  my- 
self, to  prevent  it — but  it  lay  not  in  our  power  .  .  . 

Abbot. 
Heaven  above  .  .  . 


114  MARS    DISARMED. 

MiRVOISIN. 

You  speak  of  heaven  ...  I  bow  my  head — 
not  only  heaven  above,  but  heaven  on  earth  itself, 
was  risked  by  me,  when  I  picked  up  the  glove 
that  was  cast  defiantly  at  my  feet.  It  was  not  of 
my  doing,  father,  nor  is  it  subject  to  my  undo- 
ing. It  was  forced  upon  me,  and  however  I  ab- 
hor it,  being  in  it,  I  shall  see  it  to  the  end. 

Abbot. 
But,  my  son  .  .  . 

MiRVOISIN. 

But,  father,  believe  me — this  is  beyond  your 
power  and  mine.  Your  thought  is  the  same  as 
mine;  your  wish  the  same;  yet  you  and  I  can 
do  nothing — but  submit. 

Abbot. 

By  the  memory  of  all  you  hold  sacred,  I  con- 
jure you  .  .  . 

MiRVOISIN. 

[Impatiently.']  Pray,  father,  retire  .  .  .  [Look- 
ing at  the  clock.]  In  five  minutes  they  will  be 
here. 

Abbot. 

Confess,  my  son  .  .  . 

MiRVOISIN. 

There  is  time,  good  father.      This  is  to  be  a 


MARS   DISARMED.  115 

trial  by  jury.     The  verdict  precedes   execution. 
Between  the  two  there  will  be  room  for  confession. 

Abbot. 

The  Lord  have  mercy  on  your  soul.  [Mirvoi- 
siN  kneels;  the  Abbot  blesses  him.']  I  shall  not  be 
far — send  for  me,  my  son. 

\_Abbot  goes  out,  followed  by  Sellier.     Birson 
enters,  carrying  a  small  bag.] 

MiRVOISIN. 

Good  morning  to  you,  esteemed  uncle.  By 
the  way,  your  prognostications  of  the  other  day 
are  not  verified. 

BiRSON. 

[Placing  the  bag  on  the  table.]  In  what 
respect? 

MiRVOISIN. 

The  cannon's  day  never  came.  Vimont  lives, 
and  is  still  bent  on  fighting  ...  in  his  own 
peculiar  way. 

BiRSON. 

A  rather  solemn  occasion  for  you  to  indulge 
in  your  own  peculiar  humor. 

MiRVOISIN. 

\_With  disdain.]  Think  you  so,  esteemed 
uncle  ?     What  have  you  in  that  bag  ? 


116  MARS   DISARMED. 

BiRSON. 

{^Embarrassed.^  Nothing  much — a  thing  or 
two  the  General  may  require. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Ah — ah — I  seel  What  a  type  of  the  tradi- 
tional preacher  you  are  I 

BrnsoN. 
[Sarcastically. 1     What  does  the  oracle  mean? 

MiRVOISIN. 

This — that  you,  the  most  fervent  of  Royalist 
preachers,  have  gone  over  [tapping  his  hag],  bag 
and  baggage,  to  the  Bonapartist  camp. 

BiRSON. 

Listen,  Roger,  listen  .  .  . 

MiRVOISIN. 

[Moving  to  the  door.]  Listen  to  more  of  your 
moral  preaching?  No,  uncle,  not  now.  The 
moment  is  inopportune — I  have  other  matters  to 
attend  to. 

[MiRVOISIN  goes  out.  Birson,  alone,  opens  the 
bag  and  takes  out  a  small  phial.  He  exam- 
ines it  closely.] 

BiRSON. 

Guaranteed  effective — beyond  the  recourse  of 


MARS   DISARMED.  117 

medicine.  \_He  replaces  the  phial  in  the  hag,  and 
takes  out  a  box  of  dice,  which  he  shakes  hurriedly 
and  throws  the  dice  on  the  tahle.'\  Vimont,  three 
duces — good!  [Shakes  the  box  and  throws  the  dice 
again.]  Mirvoisin,  two  fives — and  nothing  more 
— he  loses! 

[Mirvoisin  enters,  accompanied  by  his  sec- 
onds. They  look  at  the  clock.  It  strikes 
eleven,  in  deep  sonorous  tones.  All  are 
silent.  At  the  last  stroke  Vimont  and  his 
seconds  are  announced.  Vimont  acts  with 
suppressed  excitement  and  speaks  with  forced 
calmness.] 

Vimont. 
Is  everything  ready,  Birson? 

BiRSON. 

So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  all  is  ready,  General. 

[Mirvoisin  stands  on  one  side  of  the  table^ 
Vimont  on  the  other,  as  though  eager  to  test 
the  dice.  The  four  seconds  group  themselves 
at  a  distance  and  are  engaged  in  an  ani- 
mated discussion.  Birson  stands  alone, 
apparently  indifferent  to  the  issue.] 

Vimont. 

Gentlemen,  Monsieur  de  Birson  has  consented 
to  act  as  my  proxy.  [Birson  offers  the  box  of  dice 
to  Mirvoisin,  who,  with  an  air  of  deference,  hands 
it  back  to  Birson.     The  latter,  eagerly  watched  by 


118  MARS   DISARMED. 

allj  who  have  approached  the  table,  shakes  the  box 
violently  and  throws  the  dice.^     Three  fives! 

[MiRVOisiN  takes  the  box  and  is  in  the  act  of 
shaking  it,  when  one  of  his  seconds  steps  up.'\ 

Chartier. 

This  is  irregular.  The  dice  have  not  been  ex- 
amined; the  signal  has  not  been  given. 

ViMONT. 

There  are  the  dice;  examine  them.  We  await 
the  signal. 

[The  seconds  withdraw  to  a  comer j  and  once 
more  indulge  in  a  discussion.^ 

Latour. 

[Addressing  Vimont  and  Mirvoisin.]  I  am 
compelled  to  inform  you,  gentlemen,  that  while 
we  came  to  a  conclusion  last  evening,  we  are  far 
from  agreeing  this  morning. 

ViMONT. 

In  what  respect? 

Latour. 

Monsieur  Chartier  and  I  are  of  the  opinion 
that  there  is  something  unmanly,  nay,  repellant, 
in  leaving  to  the  cast  of  a  die  the  lives  of  two 
brave  men. 


MARS   DISARMED.  119 

ViMONT. 

And  I  am  of  the  opinion  that  this  is  a  pre- 
pared plan — a  trick — a  trick,  I  say — to  interfere 
with  my  securing  satisfaction  from  this  man 
[turning  fiercely  to  Mirvoisin]. 

Chartier. 

You  seem  to  forget,  General  Vimont,  that  you 
are  the  challenged  party. 

Latour. 

Believe  me.  General,  there  is  no  desire  on  our 
part  to  deprive  you  or  the  Marquis  of  the  means 
of  securing  satisfaction. 

ViMONT. 

[With  emphasis.']  Then  carry  out  the  pro- 
gramme agreed  upon. 

Chartier. 

Monsieur  Latour  and  I  do  not  consider  that 
programme  satisfactory. 

ViMONT. 

Then  suggest  a  better  one. 

Latour. 

Remember,  General,  the  Emperor's  aversion  to 
duels.  "Good  duelist,  poor  soldier" — is  one  of 
his  axioms. 


120  MARS   DISARMED. 

ViMONT. 

A  good  duelist  I  can  never  be;  a  poor  soldier  I 
am  doomed  to  be  always.  But  that  is  not  the 
point.  We  have  met  here  for  a  specific  purpose. 
Let  us  carry  out  that  purpose. 

Latour. 

But,  General,  while  we  are  here  for  a  specific 
purpose,  and  while  we  all  agree,  more  or  less, 
that  the  purpose  is  not  inconsistent  with  your 
sense  of  honor,  or  our  sense  of  duty  in  the  prem- 
ises, we  differ  widely  as  to  the  propriety  of  satis- 
fying that  purpose  in  the  manner  referred  to. 

Chartier. 

While  I  know  I  am  not  expressing  Monsieur 
de  Mirvoisin's  wishes,  I  am  convinced  that,  if 
free  from  passion,  he  would  agree  with  Monsieur 
Latour  and  myself  that  the  vindication  of  a 
man's  honor  should  depend,  not  upon  the  cast  of 
a  die,  but  upon  a  test  of  superior  strength  or 
skill. 

ViMONT. 

That  is  your  opinion — very  well — I  shall 
accept  it  as  though  my  own.  Vindication  shall 
depend  upon  a  test  of  superior  strength  or  skill. 
Tie  the  Marquis's  wrists  behind  his  back.  Thus 
he  will  have  no  advantage  over  me.  Draw  three 
parallel  lines — ten,  twenty,  thirty  feet  apart, 
one  here,  one  there,  one  there.  We  shall  meet  at 
the  central  line — face  to  face,  chest  to  chest.     He 


MARS    DISARMED.  121 

who  shall,  twice  out  of  three  times,  force  his 
adversary  to  the  further  line,  shall  be  victorious. 
If  the  Marquis,  poison  shall  end  my  life;  if  I,  he 
shall  blow  out  his  brains. 

Latour. 

[Addressing  his  colleague  J]  He  is  bent  on 
fighting. 

ViMONT. 

I  am  bent  on  settling  this  matter,  now  and  on 
this  spot. 

MiRVOISIN. 

[Calmly.']  The  suggestion  of  the  General 
meets  with  my  approval. 

[The  seconds  confer  for  a  few  moments.] 

Latour. 

[Addressing  his  colleagues,  but  loud  enough  to  he 
overheard.]  With  all  respect  to  the  General,  the 
proposition  he  has  made,  however  ingenious,  is 
impracticable. 

ViMONT. 

[With  passion.]  It  is  not  impracticable!  And 
even  if  it  were  a  hundred  times  less  so,  you  would 
still  object — it  is  your  game,  your  plan.  Dice  were 
decided  upon,  and  objections  were  brought  forth 
because  our  fate  was  to  be  left  to  chance.  It 
was  claimed  that  strength  and  skill  were  required. 
I  now  suggest  something  wherein  strength  and 
skill  will  be  brought  into  play,  and  still  you 
object. 


122  MARS   DISARMED. 

Latour. 

Personally,  I  object,  because  it  would  be  con- 
verting an  affair  of  honor — a  most  serious  matter 
— ^into  a  farce.  A  case  of  this  nature  can  only 
be  settled  by  fighting — with  swords  or  pistols. 

ViMONT. 

The  time  was  when  there  were  no  swords,  no 
pistols,  yet  men  fought. 

Latour. 
True — but  they  had  fists. 

ViMONT. 

Animals  fight,  and  they  have  no  fists.  If,  as  you 
insist,  a  duel  should  be  a  test  of  strength  between 
adversaries,  what  matters  it  whether  the  issue  be 
decided  by  means  of  pistols,  swords,  fists,  horns, 
teeth,  or  chests? 

Latour. 

It  matters  this  much:  that  one  is  recognized  as 
civilized,  the  other  as  barbarous. 

ViMONT. 

Recognized — but  on  what  grounds,  by  what 
right?  The  vain  subtilities  of  custom,  the  incon- 
sistent regulation  of  nations!  I  have  seen  men 
killed  in  my  day — by  the  hundred,  by  the  thou- 
sand.    I  have  galloped  over  battlefields  covered 


MARS   DISARMED.  123 

with  slain.  They  were  dead — dead — quite  dead. 
What  mattered  it  to  thera  what  killed  them — 
balls,  swords,  bayonets,  arrows,  blows?  Life 
was  gone — gone  beyond  recourse;  gone  without 
their  help,  without  their  will;  taken  from  them 
by  the  enemy.  And  you  talk  of  civilized 
methods!  The  barbarian  kills  his  man;  so  do 
we.  What  he  does  is  barbarous;  what  we  do 
is  civilized.  In  either  case  the  man  is  killed. 
Does  the  method  employed  make  any  difference 
to  the  man  who  is  slain?  Does  it  increase  or 
diminish  his  chances  of  coming  to  life  again? 
Does  it  relieve  the  man  who  killed  him  from  the 
responsibility  of  his  act?  Throw  poisoned  food 
to  the  bird,  or  shatter  its  wings  as  it  flies  across 
the  azure  sky,  does  not  the  bird  die?  and  are  you 
not  the  cause  of  its  death?  Bah!  Talk  not  to 
me  of  your  civilized  and  your  barbarous  methods! 
Man  may  recognize  what  he  pleases,  resort  to 
any  distinctions,  any  niceties,  he  chooses — but  in 
either  case  his  nature  remains  the  same,  his  pur- 
pose the  same,  the  result  the  same. 

\_The  seconds  look  at  each  other,  perplexed, 
amazed.  Mirvoisin  stands  immovable,  his 
eyes  riveted  on  Vimont.] 

Latour. 

Pardon  me.  General;  there  is  a  difference 
between  what  you  suggest  and  the  accepted  form 
of  duel  .  .  . 

ViMONT. 

^Interrupting ."]     A  difference,  if  you  will — but 


124  MARS   DISARMED. 

no   greater   than   that   existing  between  a  duel 
with  swords  and  one  with  pistols. 

Chartier. 
^  This  is  a  perplexing  case. 

ViMONT. 

It  is  perplexing  to  those  only  who  wish  to 
make  it  so. 

Latour. 

It  is  a  most  unusual  case,  and  the  means 
suggested  for  its  settlement  are  of  such  a  nature 
that  we  appeal  to  you — to  both  of  you — if  not  to 
forget  your  differences,  at  least  not  to  allow  them 
to  force  you,  and  ourselves,  into  a  position  the 
consequences  of  which  .  .  . 

ViMONT. 

I  shirk  none  of  the  consequences.  If  the  Mar- 
quis is  disposed  to  do  so,  let  him  say  so.  [He 
pauses  and  casts  a  searching  look  at  Mirvoisin.] 
In  which  case  we  shall  ascertain  the  source  of  all 
these  objections,  these  pourparlers. 

Mirvoisin. 

I   shirk,   or   fear,  none   of   the   consequences. 

And  I  beg  to  inform  you,  sir,  that  I  have  not,  as 

you  have,  attempted  to  influence  the  decision  of 

the  seconds.     I  placed  my  case  in  their  hands, 

and  there  I  have  silently  allowed  it  to  remain. 

[The  seconds  confer.     Vimont  paces  the  floor 

impatiently,    stopping,   for    a   moment,    to 

whisper  something  to  Birson.] 


MARS    DISARMED.  125 

Chartier. 

[^Talking  forcibly  to  his  colleague.']  There  is 
not,  in  my  mind,  sufficient  cause  for  this  duel. 

ViMONT. 

What!  I  spat  in  your  principal's  face  and  you 
do  not  deem  that  sufficient  cause  ?  Would  you 
have  me  repeat  the  offense  ? 

Chartier. 
The  original  cause  is  the  one  I  referred  to. 

ViMONT. 

The  secondary  cause  is  the  one  I  refer  to. 

Chartier. 

Since  you  insist,  we  shall  reluctantly  perform 
the  duty  imposed  upon  us.  Mirvoisin,  are  you 
ready  ? 

Mirvoisin. 


[Stepping  forward  briskly.']     Ready 


Chartier. 
With  what  shall  his  wrists  be  tied  ? 

BiRSON. 

Here! 

[iJe  draws  from  his  pocket  a  large  handker- 
chief and   hands   it   to   the  seconds.     One 


126  MARS   DISARMED. 

of  Vimont's  seconds  ties  Mirvoisin's  wrists 
tightly  behind  his  back.  All  the  seconds 
examine  the  knot  carefully  and  nod  approv- 
ingly. Then  they  measure  the  distance  be- 
between  the  two  walls,  on  either  side  of  the 
room,  moving  the  furniture  for  the  purpose.^ 

Chartier. 

The  central  line  shall  be  here.  [He  places  a 
handkerchief  on  the  floor  to  indicate  the  spot."}  The 
outer  lines  shall  be  here  [touching  the  wall],  and 
there  [pointing  to  the  wall  on  the  opposite  side,  and 
which  one  of  the  seconds  touches.] 

Latour. 

Now,  gentlemen,  I  appeal  to  you  once  more. 
Is  there  no  possibility  of  reconciUng  your  differ- 
ences ? 

ViMONT. 

None.     Let  the  contest  begin. 

MiRVOISIN. 

So  say  I. 

Chartier. 

It  is  understood,  then,  that  you  shall  meet 
here  [j)ointing  to  the  central  line],  chest  to  chest — 
and  that  he  who  shall,  twice  out  of  three  times, 
force  his  adversary  to  the  outer  line,  shall  be 
victor. 

ViMONT. 

It  is  so  understood  and  agreed. 


MARS   DISARMED.  127 

MiRVOISIN. 

It  is  so  understood  and  agreed. 

Chartier. 

What  time  shall  be  allowed  to  elapse  between 
the  contests  ? 

ViMONT. 

For  my  part,  I  say  let  them  follow  in  quick 
succession. 

MiRVOISIN. 

In  quick  succession. 

\_The  two  men  meet  on  the  line,  chest  to  chest. 
The  seconds  take  position  to  observe  the  con- 
test. One  of  the  latter  puts  the  question, 
Are  you  ready?  The  principals  respond 
in  a  firm  voice.  Yes.  In  deliberate  tones 
one  of  the  seconds  counts.  One,  two,  three. 
The  struggle  commences.  With  teeth  set,  the 
contestants  strain  every  muscle  to  overcome 
each  other.  At  first  there  is  no  perceptible 
advantage  on  either  side;  then,  in  turn,  they 
gain  on  one  another.  Finally,  Mirvoisin, 
making  a  supreme  effort,  pushes  Vimont, 
with  a  rush,  to  the  opposite  wall.  The  sec- 
onds take  note,  while  the  two  adversaries, 
looking  fiercely  at  each  other,  resume  their 
position  at  the  central  line.  The  question, 
"Are  you  ready  ?"  is  asked  and  responded 
to.  One,  two,  three.  The  second  contest 
commences.  From  the  start  Vimont  has 
the  advantage.  He  is  on  the  point  of  rush- 
ing Mirvoisin  to  the  wall,  when  the  latter 
slips  and  falls  to  his  knees.^ 


128  MARS   DISARMED. 

ViMONT. 

[Turning  excitedly  to  the  seconds.^     I  protest! 

MiRVOISIN. 

[Rising."]     It  was  an  accident — I  swear  1 

ViMONT. 

An  accident  which  you  can  bring  about  when- 
ever you  are  on  the  point  of  losing. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Since  he  doubts  my  statement,  I  give  him  the 
second  contest. 

ViMONT. 

[Indignantly.']  Give!  You  cannot  give  that 
which  is  not  yours. 

Latour. 

The  absurdity  of  the  situation  is  obvious.  The 
contest  must  end. 

ViMONT. 

It  shall  end  at  the  conclusion  of  the  third  con- 
test, not  before. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Since  he  refuses  to  accept,  as  his,  the  second 
contest,  let  it  be  resumed  here,  where  it  was  in- 
terrupted. 


MARS   DISARMED.  129 

ViMONT. 

Let  it  be  resumed  from  the  central  line,  where 
it  originally  started — but  with  the  understanding 
that  a  fall  is  to  be  considered  equivalent  to  de- 
feat. 

MiRVOISIN. 

Agreed. 

[The  two  men  face  each  other.     They  await  the 
signal — but  the  seconds  hesitate.^ 

ViMONT. 

We  are  waiting  for  the  word. 

Latour. 
Gentlemen,  we  beg  you — desist. 

ViMONT. 

If  you  will  not  give  the  word,  we  shall.  [He 
waits  a  minute,  then  turns  fiercely  to  the  seconds.^ 
Since  when  is  it  the  duty  of  principals  to  call 
seconds  to  time? 

Latour. 

The  entire  situation  is  abnormal,  and  the  pro- 
ceedings irregular. 

ViMONT. 

Your  presence  here  is  evidence  of  your  having 
accepted  the  situation.  If  you  retract,  we  shall 
proceed  without  you.  The  question!  [Hewaits.'l 
The  question!     [He  waits.]     The  question!     [He 


130  MARS   DISARMED. 

waits — the  seconds  are  silent.     He  addresses  Mir- 
voisiN.]     Are  you  ready? 

MiRVOISIN. 

Ready  1 

ViMONT. 

Birson — count  three. 

BiRSON. 

One — two — three. 

[JVie  second  contest  is  resumed.  It  is  a  shorty 
but  sharp,  struggle,  resulting  in  Vimont 
pushing  Mirvoisin  to  the  wall.  The  two 
men  face  each  other  again.  They  wait. 
Vimont  looks  inquiringly  to  the  seconds. 
They  are  silent.^ 

Vimont. 
[Addressing  Mirvoisin.]    Are  you  ready? 

Mirvoisin. 
Ready I 

Vimont. 
Birson — count  three. 

Birson. 
One — two — three. 

[The   third   struggle  commences,   more    deter^ 


MARS   DISARMED.  131 

mined,  more  prolonged  than  the  previous 
ones.  One  has  the  advantage;  then  the  other. 
Both  come  near  being  pushed  to  the  wall, 
when  a  supreme  effort  saves  them,  and  the 
contest  is  resumed  near  the  central  line.  The 
seconds  are  carried  away  by  excitement,  and 
follow  the  contestants  with  vivid  interest. 
BiRSON  looH  on  anxiously,  swaying  his  body 
to  and  fro,  as  though  his  efforts  coidd  in- 
fluence the  issue.  Finally  Mirvoisin  takes 
a  firm  stand  and,  inch  by  inch,  he  pushes 
ViMONT  to  the  wall.  The  latter,  out  of 
breath,  walks  up  to  Birson.] 

ViMONT. 

The  phial,  Birson! 

[Mirvoisin  and  the  seconds  step  up  briskly.li 

Mirvoisin. 

For  tny  part,  General,  I  cheerfully  withdraw 
the  conditions  that  were  imposed.  Nay,  I  beg  of 
you,  as  a  favor,  not  to  insist  on  carrying  them 
out. 

ViMONT. 

[Haughtily.^  Thank  you,  sir,  but  I  have  no 
favors  to  ask  at  your  hands;  nor  do  I  wish  to 
receive  any.     Birson,  the  phial  I 

Chartier. 

I  beg  of  you,  General,  do  not  persist. 

[One  of  the  seconds  removes  the  handkerchief 
from  Mirvoisin's  wrists^ 


132  MARS   DISARMED. 

ViMONT. 

Birson,  the  phial!  [Birson  hesitates.']  Remem- 
ber your  promise.  [Birson  opens  the  hag  and  pro- 
duces the  phial.]  Uncork  it,  Birson.  [Birson,  his 
fingers  on  the  cork,  looks  at  Vimont  and  still  hesi- 
tates.] Uncork  it,  I  say;  uncork  it,  if  you  be  a 
man  of  your  word.  [Birsoi^  uncorks  the  phial.  The 
seconds  rush  between  him  and  Vimont  and  exclaim, 
"  We  implore  you,  desist."—"  What  folly."  —"  It  is 
a  crime." — "  It  must  not  be."  Vimont  attempts 
to  force  his  way  to  Birson.  This  scene  must  he  full 
of  action,  Vimont  struggling  against  the  four  sec- 
onds, who  wish  to  keep  him  from  Birson.]  Fie  on 
you!  Fie!  You  cannot  deter  me  with  words. 
Break  your  compact  if  you  will,  I  shall  observe 
mine,  to  the  letter.  [He  makes  another  desperate 
effort  to  reach  Birson.]  Stand  back,  I  say!  That 
man  [looking  at  Birson]  is  bound  to  me  by  a 
solemn  vow.  Would  you  have  him  break  his 
word?  Would  you  have  me  despise  him?  Back 
— back!  [Again  he  tries  to  force  his  way  to  Bir- 
son. During  the  scHmmage  which  follows,  a  half- 
suppressed  scream  is  heard,  a  portiere  is  drawn 
aside,  and  Alixe  and  M.ABEi.EmE,  followed  by  the 
Ahhot,  appear  on  the  scene.  Madeleine,  fright- 
ened, partly  clinging  to  the  Ahhot,  remains  at  a 
distance  from  the  group  of  men,  while  Alixe  rushes 
forth  to  her  brother.  Vimont  seems  staggered  for  a 
moment.  He  draws  himself  away  from  Alixe.  He 
looks  at  her  and  then  at  Madeleine.]  What  are 
you  doing  here? 


MARS   DISARMED.  133 

Alixe. 
I  am  here  to  stop  the  perpetration  of  a  crime. 

ViMONT. 

You  are  here  to  try  and  stop  the  fulfillment  of 
a  sacred  duty. 

Alixe. 

Duty,  I  know,  Eugene,  is,  from  your  stand- 
point, the  carrying  out  of  your  word — given  in 
excitement,  under  the  influence  of  false  impres- 
sions. But  is  there  not  a  duty — a  nobler,  a 
higher,  duty — which  you  owe  to  others?  Forget 
me,  if  you  will — me,  who  love  you,  look  up  to 
you,  depend  on  you;  but  remember  one  other, 
one  whose  sentiments  I  make  bold  to  voice  when 
I  say — what  circumstances  would  otherwise  for- 
bid me  saying — that  you  once  led  her  to  believe 
you  loved  her,  and  that  she  has  vowed  her  life  to 
you. 

ViMONT. 

[Astonished.']  To  whom  do  you  refer?  [Alixe 
turns  towards  Madeleine,  who  stands  silent,  with 
hands  clasped  and  head  bowed  low.]  Indeed  you 
do  make  bold,  for,  unless  I  am  grossly  misin- 
formed, the  lady  Madeleine  is  prepared  to  bestow 
on  another  that  which  you  say  she  has  vowed  to 
me. 

Alixe. 

On  another!  And  pray,  Eugene,  to  whom  do 
you  refer? 


134  MARS   DISARMED. 

ViMONT. 

[Turning  to  Mirvoisin.]     To  this  man. 

Madeleine. 

{^Raising  her  head,  with  a  look  of  surprise  and 
indignation,  moves  towards  Alixe  and  takes  her 
hand.]  Monsieur  de  Mirvoisin !  Never  did  he 
utter  a  word  of  love  to  me,  or  cast  a  loving 
glance.  More  than  this,  I  shall  say — what  cir- 
cumstances would  otherwise  forbid  me  saying — 
that  not  only  has  Monsieur  de  Mirvoisin  never 
sighed  at  my  feet,  but  I  know  him  to  be  the  ever- 
constant  lover  of  this  fair  lady  [looking  at 
Alixe]  and  I  know  full  well  that  he  loves  her  not 
in  vain. 

ViMONT. 

[Perplexed.]  Is  this  some  plot,  some  precon- 
certed action,  to  deter  me  from  my  resolve? 

Abbot. 

[Stepping  forward.']  I  betray  no  secret  of  the 
confessional  when  I  confirm  as  facts  what  these 
ladies  have  here  related. 

Alixe. 

[Still  holding  Madeleine's  hand,  advances  tow- 
ards ViMONT.]  Men  swear  on  their  honor,  as 
gentlemen.  Permit  us,  then,  to  swear  on  our 
honor — not  a  whit  less  sacred  to  us  than  theirs 
— as  gentlewomen,  that  what  we  say  is  true. 


MARS   DISARMED.  135 

Madeleine. 

And  believe  us — since  we  are  women,  and 
have  said  and  done  what  woman's  nature  forbids 
her  saying  and  doing — that  our  words  and 
actions,  which  you  have  just  heard  and  wit- 
nessed, sprang  not  from  desire  on  our  part,  but 
from  circumstances  which  we  pray  may  be 
spared  to  others  of  our  sex.  Otherwise,  silence 
would  have  chained  our  tongue,  and  our  love 
died  rather  than  betray  itself. 

ViMONT. 

[Looking  intently  at  Alixe  and  Madeleine,  as 
though  to  read  their  thoughts^  and  then  turning  to 
BiRSON.]  How  is  this,  Birson?  This  tale  does 
not  correspond  with  yours.  [Birson  hangs  his 
head  and  is  silent,  Vimont  turns  to  Mirvoisin.] 
Did  you,  or  did  you  not,  refer  to  me  in  insulting 
terms? 

Mirvoisin. 

No  words  concerning  you  ever  escaped  my  lips, 
save  words  of  praise.  No  thoughts  ever  dwelt 
in  my  mind,  save  thoughts  of  kindness.  Wish- 
ing, above  all  else,  to  win  your  fair  sister's  hand, 
how  could  I  have  ventured  to  offend  him  from 
whom  I  was  to  ask  that  hand? 

ViMONT. 

I  take  your  word  for  it — \he  pauses'] — and 
crave  your  forgiveness.  I  cannot  offer  you  my 
hand,  but  [facing  Alixe]  take  hers — 'tis  yours. 


136  MARS    DISARMED. 

[MiRVOisiN  takes  Alixe's  hand.']  Love  her,  be 
kind  to  her — His  all  I  ask.  [Turning  to  Birson.] 
Birson,  for  reasons  you  well  understand,  I  took 
you,  a  penniless  wanderer,  to  my  home.  I  gave 
you  shelter,  I  gave  you  my  confidence,  I  had 
reason  to  hope  .  .  .  Quick  I  quick!  [The  sec- 
onds rush  forward  and  take  from  Birson  the  phial 
of  poison  which  he  is  about  to  bring  to  his  lips.] 
No,  Birson,  live — live,  but  go  elsewhere  if  you 
would  find  victims  for  your  vile  deceit.  It  will 
prove  less  offensive  if  practiced  on  those  to  whom 
you  do  not  owe  a  debt  of  gratitude. 

[Birson,  with  bowed  head,  is  about  to  with- 
draw, when  Madame  and  Mademoiselle  de 
LA  Marthe  enter.  They  salute  the  company, 
who  salute  in  turn.  During  this  scene, 
Alixe  and  Madeleine  are  conversing,  hold- 
ing each  other^s  hand,  while  Vimont  and 
Mirvoisin  are  talking  earnestly,  in  low 
tones.] 

Mdlle.  de  la  Marthe. 

[Addressing  Birson.]  We  have  been  seeking 
you  everywhere. 

Madame  de  la  Marthe. 

[Taking  Birson  aside  and  folloived  by  Madem- 
oiselle DE  LA  Marthe.]  A  letter  received  this 
morning  announces  more  family  news  of  impor- 
tance. 


MARS   DISARMED.  137 

Mdlle.  de  la  Marthe. 

Our  cousin  Antoinette  is  to  marry  Monsieur 
de  Bastiac. 

Madame  de  la  Marthe. 
[Solemnly^     How   true  the   family  tradition! 
Only  four  days  have  elapsed,  and  already  the 
second  engagement  is  announced. 

Mdlle.  de  la  Marthe. 

[To    Birson.     Maliciously. '\     That    kills    your 
chance. 

BiRSON. 

[  With  greater  evidence  of  malice.']     Yours  like- 
wise. 

Madame  and  Mdlle.  de  la  Marthe. 
How  so?     How  so? 

BiRSON. 

The  third  engagement  is  announced. 

Madame  and  Mdlle.  de  la  Marthe. 
[Eagerly.']     Whose?     Whose? 

BiRSON. 

Our  nephew  de  Mirvoisin  is  engaged  to  Mad- 
emoiselle Vimont. 

[Consternation  of  the  two  ladies^  who  withdraw 
to  a  corner,  followed  by  Birson.  Vimont 
and  Mirvoisin  join  Alixe  and  Made- 
leine.] 


138  MARS    DISARMED. 

Alixe. 

Did  I  not  tell  you,  Eugene,  that,  if  you  tried, 
you  should  find  something  nobler  than  war, 
sweeter  than  renown — something  that  would 
awaken  a  new  ambition? 

ViMONT. 

[Looking  at  Alixe,  then  at  Madeleine,  whom  he 
approaches.']  Yes,  fair  sister,  I  have  indeed 
found  both  the  incentive  to,  and  the  reward  of, 
true  ambition. 

MiRVOISIN. 

[Smilingly.]     Mars  disarmed  .  .  . 

Abbot. 
Laus  Deo  semper! 


the  end. 


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